


The Pack Survives

by Jamrock



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Multi, Retelling, The North Remembers (ASoIaF), Winterfell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 02:36:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jamrock/pseuds/Jamrock
Summary: This short story is a retelling of Littlefinger's downfall





	The Pack Survives

1

Sansa Stark slipped beneath the blankets quickly. Her toes were icicles and she wanted to warm them. All the while trying not to think of the harsh wind whistling outside, beating against the shutters like gigantic fists. When she closed her eyes, her thoughts drifted to Jon. How could he ever trust a Targaryen? Nothing she said could dissuade him from going to Dragonstone to meet with the woman who called herself Daenerys Targaryen. The more Sansa disagreed with him, the more Jon did not take kindly to her presence in the Great Hall where he was scolded swiftly by others reminding him of the Mad King’s reign. It was not the first time she willfully challenged Jon’s decisions. She was beginning to feel guilty about doing it.

_I should trust him. He is King of the North and he is a Stark._

No matter who his mother was, Sansa had to remind herself that Jon was likely the only family she has left. When he bid her farewell, she tried to give him a smile, but it was more of a grimace. Jon was not known to be sentimental so it took her by surprise when he embraced her in a warm hug. His last words were,

“I will return.”

Sansa watched him leave with Ser Davos Seaworth and his men, armored with shield and sword and holding banners with the Direwolf sigil like Robb had, her father and her father’s father did before. Generations of Starks, all of them long gone. There was something else that troubled her mind. She sent Brienne of Tarth on a mission to round up all the grains of wheat, barley and flour from a few of the northern Houses. They would have to ration, dole out grain little by little, to ride out the length of this winter. Brienne left Winterfell before Jon, but there was no word from her yet. Sansa was beginning to wonder if the woman was in trouble.

A knock on the door startled her upright, as she was just beginning to fall asleep.

“Lady Sansa?” a voice came after. Some firewood broke in the hearth and spitted a few flames that scared her. “Are you alright my lady?”

“Yes. Wait a moment.”

When her feet touched the stone floor she shivered. She walked toward the hearth and used the poker to push one of the broken limbs of wood back into the fire. Taking comfort in the warmth before attending to the visitor at the door, she opened it and stood rather in annoyance than in welcome. The small servant kindly said,

“Lord Baelish wishes to see you.”

“At this hour?”

“Do I tell him that you shan’t be able to come?”

“No. I will see him. Thank you.”

The servant nodded, and Sansa waited until the small man left before closing the door. She pulled one of her knitted dresses over her nightgown and draped her mother’s old shawl over both shoulders. It still smelled of her. Sansa pushed the thought away as quickly as it came. She did not like being emotional in front of Lord Baelish. It was a weakness. He always knows. He is always watching.

Another knock came, “Who is it?”

“It tis’ me m’lady. I fetched you some hot water for a bath.”

Sansa opened the door a crack. One of the scullery maidens stood barefoot. A young girl of maybe ten with golden, matted hair.

“Seven hells, are your feet not cold?” Sansa said aghast.

“No m’lady.” The young girl did not look her in the eyes and shied away from her touch when Sansa ushered her in.

“I have no use for a bath at this hour, but I will be grateful if you braid my hair.”

The maiden put the washbucket down as Sansa sat on a stool near the fire.

“Is this enough light for you to see?”

“Yes m’lady.”

Sansa gave her the brush and hummed to herself as the girl brushed through her auburn hair, brushing out the curls and then gathering her hair in small strokes that twisted and grew into larger strokes as the braid reached the end. The maiden stood very still while Sansa examined her handiwork.

“You have talent little one.” The young girl bowed in reply. “Ladies curtsy, like this.” Sansa showed her and the young girl copied. She would have liked to stay and talk with the girl but Lord Baelish was waiting.

“You must be tired.”

“Not really m’lady. Mother says I am a night owl.”

The maiden scurried away, before Sansa could thank her.

One of the solars rooms in Winterfell was dimly lit. A fire was burning low in the hearth while Petyr Baelish and Nestor Royce were quietly chatting. When Sansa entered, both men ceased in conversation. Nestor Royce cleared his voice to speak again, but Lord Baelish interrupted,

“Lady Sansa, Lord Nestor and I were just commending your efforts today when you so bravely tried to reason with your brother.”

“Failed to reason.” She corrected him.

“You mustn’t be so hard on yourself. It was you who convinced me to send the Vale army to aide Jon when he was in peril. The North will remember the day Lady Sansa Stark saved Winterfell from the Boltons.”

She did not intend to blush, “You flatter me Lord Baelish, but songs will be sung about Jon’s bravery that day as they should be.”

His grey green eyes appeared to be dancing from the firelight, Lord Baelish smiled coyly taking a sip of wine.

 _He is amused._ Sansa thought about Petyr’s other half. The half that he concealed from everyone. It was times like this that she could see Littlefinger peeking from underneath the mask that he wore. It was Littlefinger that killed Ser Dontos, her Florian and it was Littlefinger who pushed Aunt Lysa through the Moon Door. That all seemed like ages ago, in another lifetime when she was a foolish girl who dreamed of marrying a handsome Prince. Sansa beckoned herself to stay in the present.

Petyr brushed his fingers along the goblet he was holding filled with some wine that she could not distinguish.

“Come sit with us.” He stands up and gestures toward the cushioned chair he previously occupied. Lord Nestor appeared to be impatient. He could barely keep still.

“Something has come up and we, Lord Nestor and I, must return to the Vale.”

“There is a siege at the Gates of the Moon, the castle that guards the entrance to the Eyrie. The Lannister army wants young Robert Arryn to pledge fealty to Cersei, but Robert has locked himself in and refuses to see anyone.” Lord Nestor looked ill when he said his next words, “My son was injured protecting the Eyrie.” Petyr puts a hand on his shoulder.

“Ser Albar is strong. He will make it.”

“They have threatened to take off his head if I, the Keeper of the Gates, do not return to my post and surrender. Your words are wind Lord Baelish.” He stands up, and leaves the solar room.

Sansa is shaken. “When will you leave?”

“Immediately. Before the crack of dawn.”

“Send a raven to Sweetrobin. Surely he will reply.”

“It is too late to do that. Nestor spared you the hard news about your cousin. Robert refuses to eat and sleep. I fear the boy has gone mad.”

“What can I do to help?” She stands.

“Nothing sweetling, the last thing I want to do is to involve you in this.”

 _He is serving me lies._ Sansa did not want to believe it, but she knew better than to trust Littlefinger. He wanted something from her. _Why else would he want me to know that he is leaving?_   She told herself that she was helping her cousin, not Littlefinger.

“I want to help.”

Petyr gave her a sad smile, “Well there is something you can do. Send a raven to King’s Landing on the fortnight. Tell Cersei that you are Protector of the Vale and you will not pledge fealty to her.”

Sansa was puzzled, “But you are Lord Protector of the Vale.”

“What if something happens to me sweetling? We must be prepared. Always be prepared before your enemy’s next possible move. That is how you win the game of thrones.” Littlefinger caressed her face gently, his shadow from the firelight made him appear taller than he was. “You are ready Sansa.”

 

***

The young destrier that Sansa took out to the top of the hill that overlooks Winterfell was stubborn and hard to break. When she drew the reins up to keep the horse from going the wrong way, it would yank its head in the opposite direction. She wanted the white palfrey that reminded her so much of Lady, but by the time she donned her cloak and leather gloves and returned to the stables to saddle the horse, Lord Nestor had already chosen it. Sansa would have ignored the stubborn horse if Littlefinger was not there. He seemed amused by the sight of her silently wrestling with it. Instead of riding, he was walking.

“Be careful.” He said, “You don’t want to fall off that beast now do you?”

“I can manage,” she replied.

“Why not join me for a walk? You are much safer down here than you are up there.”

“At this hour there are wolves that roam near the Kingsroad. I assure you Lord Baelish, I am much safer up here than down there.”

He laughed heartily. “You need not worry. We have an escort.”

Sansa kicked the destrier in the sides to turn around as the rumbling of hooves grew louder. When she saw the banners with the Falcon crest sigil she said to LittleFinger,

“You are taking the Vale army?”

“Only five thousand men. The rest will stay here under your command.” Seeing the worried look on her face, he continued. “Lord Nestor and I will need a little security.”

“Surely there are other ways to settle this without more bloodshed.”

“If Jaime Lannister were a peaceful man…” Ahead of them Lord Nestor poked and prodded the white palfrey with a whip to make the horse go faster. Petyr continued, “He may be leading this siege, you know as well as I that he will draw blood first chance he gets.”

Suddenly Sansa felt sick. She was not certain if it was the sight of Lord Nestor whipping the horse or Petyr Baelish and his indifference. Tired, she wanted to go home, “I packed two ladens of food for the journey. One with bread and cheese and a flagon of wine. The other with beef stew. You and Lord Nestor can warm it over a fire.”

“That was thoughtful of you, but we shall not be stopping much and most of the journey will be spent inside the wagon.”

“But the horses will tire.”

“And when they do tire, they will get plenty of water and rest. Nestor and I will get to the Eyrie safely. It seems like you do not want me to leave. Is there something that frightens you?”

“I am not afraid.” _I can be brave. She comforted herself. I am a she-wolf too like Arya._ Suddenly she thought of her long lost sister.

“You can be a gifted liar when you want to be.”

She stopped the horse in it’s trot. “Like you Lord Baelish?”

Littlefinger stopped with her, crossing his arms behind him. “A lie can be sweeter than the truth. It can help you survive.”

“So I’ve been told before.” She felt naked, vulnerable from his direct gaze.

“Then why do you still debate on it? The truth is what you make it Sansa.”

_When I was Alayne he told me this. Alayne lied to save herself and to save him. But why does it feel so different now?_

“I am cold and in need of sleep so I will part ways with you here Lord Baelish. Safe journey to you.”

“Thank you Lady Sansa.”

She felt his eyes on her when she turned the destrier around and set her sight on Winterfell. Daylight would be here soon. But the rain clouds moved in as the stormfront began to build up like puffed pastries. It was going to pour and no doubt the cold would make the rain freeze over until the North was a wasteland of ice and snow. The godswood was beautiful during the winter. As a child Sansa loved to make snow castles and watch Father sharpen Ice under the watchful eye of the weirwood. Arya would hide behind the snow covered statues and scare Bran and Rickon until Mother told her they would wet their beds from perpetual fright. Somewhere nearby Robb, Jon and Theon were breaking one of the young steeds with Ser Rodrick’s help. The distant memory threatened to strangle her and she shivered kicking the sides of the destrier to make it gallop. Truth is, Sansa was afraid, afraid to fail when so many depended on her since Jon’s departure. She could admit fear but never wanted it to cripple her until she was craven. She wondered what Jon was doing right now.

_Did he make to Dragonstone? Is he under attack on the open seas?_

She had so many questions with no answers and impatient lords who were waiting for her to deliver news about her brother.

 

2

“Come forward Lord Cerwyn” Sansa beckoned him.

For two whole days, the lords were debating on matters of injustice and who would carry out justice for the families that were murdered by the Boltons. Sansa swore fit to punish those that took part in the terrorizing and give leniency to those that were forced to comply, but she was starting to see the beginnings of conflict amongst the remaining northern Houses. Maester Coleman was of great help to her. He had served under Jon Arryn and Lysa Arryn for years. With Jon and Ser Davos gone, Sansa did not know what she would do without his council and she thanked him for that whilst others wanted to spit on him for being an old Maester who knew too much about the political affairs of lords. Cley Cerwyn stepped forward and placed a closed fist on his chest.

“My Lady.”

“Lord Cerwyn.” she responded.

“I am the last surviving member of my House. My father Medger Cerwyn was flayed alive by Ramsey Bolton, along with my uncle and dear mother. Justice is all I ask.”

She took a deep breath, “You will get that justice Lord Cerwyn, I swear it. I will see to it that each and everyone of the Houses that have remained loyal to House Stark will be justly rewarded as well.”

“There is something else…” the man hesitated. His closed fist still on chest. Sansa smiled to make him more at ease.

“Tell me and I will do what I can.” She said.

“I offer..I offer my hand in marriage.”

The smile disappeared from her face. Some of the men in the room gasped, others laughed and muttered how nonsensical it was for a Stark to marry a Cerwyn. All the while Lord Cerwyn turned as red as a beet. He stared at his feet to avoid from further embarrassment.

“Enough!” She silenced the men in a firm voice. The laughter and jeering remarks ceased.

“My lady, I know that I am not a handsome man and I do not have many titles to my name. Only a small inheritance that my father left me, but I can give you protection, guidance and children of course, like any man should. If you would take my hand…”

Sansa could sense the tension in the room. As if her answer would solve some great calamity. She could register curiosity but also lingering doubt on many of the lords’ faces. The longer she took to answer the more, Lord Cerwyn looked ill. His face went from an embarrassing red blush to white, moon pale. She chose her words carefully,

“You are an honorable man Lord Cerwyn. My lord father had great respect for your father and you supped with House Stark at many a feast. You are modest and kind and a gentleman. I cannot say I have met many gentlemen, ” everyone waited on her final words. “However, I cannot accept your hand in marriage. I have a duty to House Stark in my brother’s absence and marriage would only complicate things.”

“I understand.” He finally made eye contact with her and the rejection written on his face made her feel terrible.

 _Once, I would have made a good wife to some lord. I would have been the envy of every Northern girl. Jeyne would have wept for me._ Sansa thought, but then she remembered what Joffrey did to her. His cruel mockery and the contempt he had for her. She remembered the way his lips curled into a smile the day Ser Meryn Trant beat her in the Throne room and tore off her clothes like some common whore. _My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel._

Robett Glover stood from the table and made his way before her.

“My lady. Any word from your brother?”

“I am afraid not, Lord Glover,” she replied. “When I hear from him, you all will be the first know.”

“When you hear from him? Winter will be here before we know it and while we’re freezing our arses off, the King of the North could be held up in a dungeon or worse.”

“He will return from Dragonstone. He told me so himself.”

“Aye, he said that, but let us be reasonable. He seeks to form an alliance with a Targaryen, a Targaryen whose father plunged the Seven Kingdoms into war and burned anyone alive who dared question him.”

“I am well aware of what her father did.”

“But you were not born and Jon was but a babe suckling at his nursemaid’s breast. These good, seasoned men behind me remember the Mad King’s reign. What his reign cost everyone in Westeros. Do you deny that Jon could be heading into a trap?”

“I do not deny it!” Sansa leaned forward to meet Lord Glover’s gaze.

Truth is, she was not a lover of history. It was Arya who loved history and memorized all the stories about the First Men and Aegon the Conqueror with his sister wives Visenya and Rhaenys. She could recite all the stories about Aegon conquering Westeros on the back of his dragon Balerion the Dread. Sansa saw it as brutish, war tales and tended to care more about simpler things. Things Arya thought was stupid. While Arya read books on the Art of Jousting, Sansa preferred to read about Princes rescuing their Princesses. She always thought it quite romantic the way Rhaegar Targaryen stole her Aunt Lyanna, until the sadness in Father’s eyes gave way that it wasn’t romantic at all. If Sansa still prayed to the old gods, she would pray that her brother would abandon this attempt to gain favor with Daenerys Targaryen.

_The sooner Jon returns the better._

“Everything that you say, Jon has already considered Lord Glover. You saw how difficult it was for him to leave knowing that he might fail, but it is a risk he had to take. Winter is Coming.”

“Aye, Winter is Coming, but is Jon Snow so ready to kill us all before it gets here?”

Cheers rang out and others joined in the praise for Robett Glover.

One of them shouted. “Never trust a Targaryen!”

Another man shouted, “The Mad King killed babes in their sleep, his daughter will do the same to our babes!” Mugs of ale clobbered on the tables leaving Sansa to use her empty mug to gain the lords’ attention again. “That is enough Lord Glover. Please sit down.”

He turned on his heel and sat down proudly on one of the benches.

Maester Coleman clears his voice.“Lady Sansa, Alys Karstark still has a request.”

Sansa composed herself, “Very well, come forward Alys.”

The young woman stood and walked to front of the room, all the lords quieted down to hear what she had to say. Although Alys made a great effort to hide her belly, it was apparent that she was with child.

“My lady, I owe a great debt to House Stark. When Jon Snow helped me escape the cruel wrath of my cousin Cregan, I was relieved. On my wedding day to Sighorn, I thanked him. I will forever be grateful to him, but…I daresay that I cannot sleep knowing that my cousin is a prisoner at Castle Black. My only request is that you would be so kind to see that he is released.”

Sansa nodded, “I see. Why this change of heart?”

“My uncle is gravely ill. He will be dead before winter. I cannot go to him because he forbid me to return home when I did not marry Cregan. There is no one else to bury him, except my cousin. He is the rightful heir to Karhold.”

Maester Coleman intervened,“What about your child? If it tis’ a boy, raise the babe to manhood and he could be the Lord of Karhold.” Alys was surprised at the thought until one of the lords replied with disdain,

“Never thought I would live to see the day a wildling’s bastard child is mentioned in the same breath as Lord of Karhold.” Someone spat on the ground at Alys’s feet causing the woman to shudder and clutch at her stomach. Another voice erupted.

“Instead of marrying her cousin, the whore spreads her legs for a wildling! The gods should curse your seed.”

The room erupted in loud conversation and before Sansa knew it, more men were insulting the Karstark woman.

“Stop it!” Sansa shouted but her voice was beginning to be drowned out by the lords. More words were hurled. Some at Alys and others at her.

“If Lord Karstark never lost his head to Robb Stark the traitor, he would whip you through the streets for bedding a wildling!” One lord threw a loaf of bread at Alys who dodged it but was hit with a wooden spoon on her backside.

Sansa stood, trying to calm the sudden commotion,“Enough! I said enough!” But her words were a ghost, passing over the men.

Maester Coleman guarded her for fear that they would attack her next. Sansa watched as Lord Glover intervened mightily. His presence seemingly calming the room and soothing the tempers that flared.

“Enough! This poor girl is still the daughter of Lord Karstark and should be treated as such. You all ought to be ashamed.”

He helped Alys get to her feet, the woman no longer a huddled mass on the floor shielding her stomach. Lord Glover faced Sansa who sat in the large chair once again, needing to compose herself. “Lady Sansa, if I may apologize on behalf of these iron lords who forget their place.”

She nodded and chose her words carefully, “No fault of yours Lord Glover, but thank you. Alys Karstark, your request is granted.” She continued taking a deep breath, “as long as Cregan Karstark promises to keep his end of the bargain and remain at Karhold. He has not forgotten what Jon did for you. If he so much as trespasses the grounds of Winterfell, he will be executed.”

Aly’s voice was almost a squeak, “Thank you my lady.”

Sansa gradually stood to her feet watching some of the iron lords still scorn her presence.“Maester Coleman I will retire to my chambers.” _I have had enough for one day._ “When Jon returns…”

“If he returns…” the lord who said it stood smugly and left through the doors of the Great Hall. Others decided to follow leaving the Hall one by one. Empty tables and mugs of ale left behind for scullery maids to clean up.

 _Do they care so little for me?_ Sansa suppressed her feelings as best she could.

“If a raven comes from Jon or Brienne, please let me know.” The Maester nodded, his chains clinking together. “Alys I will have a room prepared for you next to my chambers. You will be more warm there. Lord Glover will you escort her?”

“Of course, this way.” He took Alys by the arm gently, the woman timidly looked at Sansa and said, “I wish I had your courage my lady.”

3

That night Bran came to Sansa in a dream. Instead of being a little crippled boy, he was a giant tree with the face of a grisly old man. Roots and green lichen spread like fingers from the trunk of the tree to the bottom. When the tree spoke to her, it was in Bran’s voice.

“Do not worry. You will know what to do.”

“I will know what to do?” She was confused. There were a million things she wanted to say to her lost long brother, but now that she was in his presence she could not find the words. “Where are you?”

“Far away.” Bran said.

His branches moved like hands. When Sansa reached down to drink from the pond at the base of the tree it helped her by taking a leaf and guiding droplets of water into her mouth. Wherever she was, the place was beautiful. Mystical echoes drifted in the air and it was as if Sansa were walking on clouds. She felt a wet lick on her right hand and sure enough Summer was there. Bran’s direwolf grew several inches from when she last saw it. She could barely fit her arms around the animal when she hugged him, but the warmth of his fur made her think of happier times. She let him lick her face, for the first time she laughed. The sound of her laugh was strange to her own ears.

“I miss you too Summer,” she said. “I wish Lady could have been here to see you.” The direwolf began to cry and before she knew it Summer had run off elsewhere.

“Beware of the man who calls himself your friend.” Bran’s voice came from the tree again.

“Whom do you speak of?” She said.

“Beware Sansa.” The echo surrounded her, “Beware…”

From behind she felt too strong hands push her forward. Before she could cry for help, Sansa was tumbling face first into the pond. Water filled her lungs and she was drowning. Bran did not come to save her. He was far away.

Sansa awoke, she sat up breathing heavily. Her fear of drowning no longer a reality. She reached down with one arm nearly expecting Lady to lick her hand like the direwolf use to. _Foolish girl. Lady is dead._

Part of the dream came back to her, then she remembered that it was Summer she saw and heard Bran’s voice. Thinking of her younger brother’s voice once again made her shiver. A sharp knock came through the door followed by the clanking of armor.

“Lady Sansa, you must come immediately! Lady Brienne has returned but she is injured.”

 

***

 _Oathkeeper_ , Brienne of Tarth’s sword, was stained with the blood of several men. The field was scattered with a dozen bodies missing limbs and heads. One body was cut from root to stem, with bloody entrails escaping the nest of what use to be the stomach.

“Deserters from the Night’s Watch,” Brienne said in a hoarse voice. She knelt on the field, her chainmail bloodied and dirty. By the way she guarded her right shoulder, Sansa could tell that she was injured.

“Are you alright?” She asked coming to her side.

“I will be fine my lady. Just a scratch.”

“Doesn’t look like a scratch.” Brienne bit her lip hiding the pain in her shoulder, the blood dripped making a trail down her armor. “I will make a tourniquet for you.”

One of the Vale soldiers barked at Brienne, “What happened here?”

“I just told you, you idiot. Deserters from the Night’s Watch.” As Sansa formed a tourniquet with part of the hem from her dress, Brienne explained, “I gathered some of the grain, flaxseed and flour from most of the Northern Houses. Most of the wagons are filled with what I could get. Many of the lords were stubborn my lady.” Brienne grimaced when Sansa pulled the tourniquet under her arm.

“As expected…..” Sansa replied.

“I went as far as The Twins and circled back to The Wall. Ed Tollett, current Lord Commander could not give me anything at Castle Black. The men are doing their own rationing. Apparently Cersei refuses to give them any coin so they starve by day and eat cold soup and fish bones by night.”

“I will give Castle Black a few bags of grain.”

“Already did my lady. It was the least I could do and I offered to bring these deserters back to Winterfell to be executed for their crimes. A few of them plotted to kill Ed Tollet for his loyalty to your brother and when he found out, they tried to flee. The rest are rapers who ransacked Moletown and tried to sell young girls for profit.” Brienne winced again, “I should have never turned my back on one of them. That bastard cut me good, then he escaped, off in that direction. I must find him.”

“I will send men to do that. You must tend to your wound or it will fester. Here take my shoulder.”

The woman was heavy although Sansa supposed that her armor added to the weight. Brienne towered over her, her yellow hair growing longer and speckled with a few grey hairs. While the woman was not handsome, she moved with a prowess and Sansa sometimes wished she had her same physical strength and valor. _No one would be able to harm me._

But she would sooner pick up learning one of the Summer Isle languages than don armor. Inside the gates of Winterfell, Sansa almost collapsed from the weight of Lady Brienne. Lord Cerwyn saw her struggling and came to her aide,

“Take her to Maester Coleman.”

Brienne winced and nearly fell, “My lady there is something else that I did not tell you. Ser Brynden Tully…”

“Is dead. I saw your letter.”

“Alive.” Brienne confirmed. “I spoke with him at…”

“Shhh…not here.” Sansa interrupted. “I will be up to see you shortly.”

Before she could get another word out, Lord Cerwyn helped the injured woman to Maester Coleman’s quarters.

“Did you find the deserter?” Sansa asked one of the Vale soldiers who entered the gates of Winterfell on a horse, “Not yet Lady Sansa, but a raven came.”

 _It must be news from Jon._ She took the letter from his hand, but the seal was of a Mockingbird. _It is from LittleFinger_.

She broke the seal and read the letter’s contents quickly. It took her a second time to read before realizing what it meant entirely.

She tucked the letter away and spoke to the guard, “Robert Arryn is dead. Put men on the Kingsroad to guard Lord Petyr Baelish, he is returning to Winterfell.”

 

4

Sweetrobin was irritable, spoiled and sickly but he did not deserve to die. The thought that plagued Sansa the most is that she should have been there to protect him. _What was it that Littlefinger said? Sweetrobin had gone mad._

The boy was already fragile. In King’s Landing, Sansa recalled hearing men jeer at the way Aunt Lysa kept young Robert at her breast. Lord Tyrion predicted the boy would be dead before his twelfth name day and not longer after, the vultures that guarded Lysa Arryn would be picking at the boy’s inheritance like carrion. Sansa had the inkling that Petyr Baelish did not tell her everything in the letter. Something that he was withholding from her or would never tell her.

_He is so clever. Would I ever guess it?_

Sansa sat on a stool tending to Brienne as the woman lay sprawled on the sick bed. Her wound began to smell and surely the deepness of it would leave a scar. Sansa dabbed a cloth in cold water and placed it on her forehead.

“She is so hot.”

Maester Coleman rested a wrinkled hand on Brienne’s face, “Lady Brienne has a fever. Her body is trying to fight off the infection.”

“Will she die?”

“She is strong.” the Maester’s chains clanked as he mixed something in a wooden bowl. “A bit of milk of poppy and she will sleep off the fever.”

He gave the wooden bowl to Sansa who in turn gave it to Brienne. The woman nearly puked.

“Any news from Jon?” Brienne was hoarse from the fit of coughing. When Sansa gave her a disappointing look, she replied, “He will return. I’m sure of it.” The woman’s hand was twice her size when they covered her hands. Sansa smiled.

“Rest now. You have to get back all your strength Brienne. Maester Coleman, will you walk with me?”

They left Brienne to sleep in peace and walked the grounds of Winterfell. Sansa assigned men to count all the grains of food and divide them up to be stored away. The kitchen was supplemented with grain and flour, scullery maids began to bake bread until the smokestack billowed with black smoke. It had been hours since Sansa had a meal, the smell of charred ham and bread made her hungry.

“Maester, I need to learn a skill. Something to past the time. My mother use to say that ladies should always have a skill.”

The old man, nodded his head understanding her words,

“How may I assist you?”

“Can you teach me how to mix tonics?”

“I can teach you what I know my lady.”

“Anything you can teach me, I would be most grateful.”

They began to walk again, assisting where they could to ensure the upkeep of Winterfell.

“When shall we start your lessons?” the Maester asked.

“Tomorrow.” She replied, “I will meet you in the library.”

 

***

Cobwebs dangled from the book shelves that ran horizontal like battering rams. Rows of worn down books, some lined with thick coats of dust and others with pages that had been eaten by mice. One thing was certain, the Winterfell library had not been used in a long while. When Sansa entered the library with Maester Coleman it was like entering a labyrinth to a different world, a world that was possibly haunted by a creature in one of Old Nan’s tales. It was dark and dank and there was a putrid scent that made Sansa want to gag. She took the torch from the Maester and set it inside a crate on the wall. That gave some illumination to their steps and Sansa did not feel like she was going to trip over her feet trying to find a table they could sit at.

“Maester Luwin use to teach us in here…” her voice trailed off.

“All of your siblings?”

“Yes.” The memories flooded back to her in the moment. “He taught us History, Geography and World Literature. We had to memorize all the Houses of Westeros and their liege lords. I remember one day he made Arya and I write a long list of them and the one who finished first would get a treat. Arya won. She was always better at memorizing things. Maester Luwin gave her a few apple tarts. She must of ate them until she was sick.” Sansa smiled and continued her story, “Before long she was sharing the apple tarts with me and telling me which Houses and liege lords belonged to whom. That must of have been the only time we truly got along.”

Maester Coleman finished lighting the wicks of a few burned down candles. The library was now bright and shadows from the book shelves danced on the walls.

“You miss her very much.”

“I suppose I do.”

_I wish I could go back to happier times. Father should have never been the King’s Hand. Robert Baratheon was a drunk and cruel and never deserved his friendship._

Sadness crossed her face. Exasperated Sansa took a seat at a giant, circular wooden table in the center of the library.

“Where shall we start?” she said.

“The Citadel has a large book on medicine and remedies called ‘Healers & Gifters’ ”

“Will we find it in here?”

“Not to worry my lady. I carry it with me on long journeys.” Underneath his robes he pulled out a large book so worn that Sansa wondered how it did not fall apart in his hands. “I am very forgetful you see. One misstep could be fatal for a sick person so I keep this gem with me always.” The old man chuckled, “we will need parchment paper, quill and ink.”

“There is paper, quill and ink down the hall in Jon’s chambers.”

“Good. Today I will give you the basics, how to cure fever, blood infections, rheumatoid of the joints. Let’s see..” he took a seat next to Sansa and opened the large volume.

“I was wondering Maester could you also teach me how to mix toxins?”

A surprised look of concerned crossed his wrinkled face, “Poison? Why my lady I prefer to heal people rather than the alternative.”

“I know how it sounds, but I want to learn everything. The good and the bad.”

“A great many Maesters were stripped of their chains and exiled from The Citadel for corrupting the healing arts and dealing in dark necromancy. Unspeakable things that the gods frown upon. Is it worth knowing everything?”

 _Sometimes it is._ She thought.

“I promise you Maester that I will never ask you to do anything that goes against your nature. I alone will carry this burden.”

The old man furrowed his brows, “Very well then, I will teach you what I know. The good and bad.”

By the time Brienne was standing on her feet again, Sansa had learned how to make tonics to cure such sickness as acid indigestion, whooping cough, the pox and the colic in newborn babes. She learned how to treat festered wounds, fever, and she was able to set the broken arm of a stable boy who fell off one of the horses. Maester Coleman commended her on being a studious learner but reminded her that her hands were slow to task and she would need spectacles by the time she is of middle age if she continued to read beside a dim candle. Sansa also learned how to mix dangerous toxins. Maester Coleman would only teach her this at night in Maester Luwin’s old chambers near the rookery when all of Winterfell was asleep. The man was adamant that no one can know he was teaching her these things and Sansa complied with him. By day she took meals with iron lords who scolded her for being a girl with a man’s duty by night she studied and took lessons on mixing toxins. All the while Brienne swore to find the deserter who escaped. As soon as her health returned she was out searching the forests day and night.

Together Sansa and Maester Coleman discovered many books in Maester Luwin’s old chambers near the rookery that contained notes on the deadliest poisons. Sansa had no idea his chambers was filled with such knowledge. It was impressive. Old manuscripts and scrolls were stacked on the desk. Some in handwriting that Sansa could not make out.

“What is this handwriting?” She showed Maester Coleman.

“From Volantis, I suspect. It’s the way all the Volantene letters lean to the left.” He cleared off another desk. “This is where we will mix the toxins. You will have to wear a mask and borrow blacksmith gloves. The fumes can be just as deadly as drinking the poisons.” Spending time with the Maester, Sansa realized he had a natural curiosity about life and how things worked. She never knew that the man was so intelligent because he could be as quiet as a mouse, so much that one could forget his presence in a room.

The Maester gawked at the sight of a wardrobe that opened up into a small alcove. He eased himself into the passageway of the alcove.

“Pass me the candle.” She gave him the candle and the old man marveled at his findings. “It appears that your Maester Luwin was quite the expert in making poison. There are dozens of bottles in here.”

The news surprised Sansa. Maester Luwin was kind, gentle, intelligent and unassuming, never dangerous.

“I never knew this was here. Maester Luwin was indeed a mystery.”

“He must have had a great inquiring mind. Some of this may be useful to us.” With excitement in his voice, “What do we have here?” He picked up a contraption in his hand. “Looks to be a mixing device. This is good my lady. Let’s get to work.”

 

5

“How do we know it works?” Sansa asked as her and the Maester walked the grounds of Winterfell at dawn. Last night they had labored away. Sansa doing most of the mixing with a mortar and pestle while Maester Coleman used the contraption to liquify the contents of the toxins. It was not long before Sansa grew tired and the Maester urged her to go to sleep. Shuffling off to bed in the wee hours of the morn, she was so tired that she slept naked after burning her clothes in the hearth as the Maester instructed her to do. In the morning, she was told they had mixed two bottles of poison. One was from Dorne a dark, purple liquid called Nightshade, the other was more familiar to Sansa. It was the poison that killed Joffery on his wedding day to Lady Margaery. She could never forget the choking noises coming from Joffrey as he fell to the floor, helpless and frightened. Cersei plunging her finger down his throat and the spittle at Joffrey’s mouth bubbling into a froth.

The sun struggled to break through the clouds. Sansa stopped to warm her hands near a fire.

“You shall not know till someone drinks it.”Maester Coleman regretted his words, a sullen look came over him, that made Sansa regret asking her question. “If I may be frank with you my lady…”

“Of course you may.”

“Promise me that you will not make any poison again.”

“It weighs heavily on you.”

“It does.”

She placed her warm gloved hand on his cold one, “I promise. You have my word.”

The heavy doors of Winterfell opened and Brienne rode in on her destrier, the gold hilt of _Oathkeeper_ at her side. She dismounted and strode over to Sansa.

“How are feeling?”

“Much better thank you. A raven just came my lady. The message is engraved with the Stark sigil.”

“News from Jon.” Sansa broke the seal and read the short message quickly. “It says Daenerys Targaryen wants him to bend the knee and pledge fealty.” Frustrated she balled up the message in her fist, “I knew this would happen.”

“Jon will not do it,” Brienne surmised.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I cannot be sure, but he knows the greater threat lies beyond the Wall. Daenerys Targaryen means for him to join her to defeat Cersei so she can rule Westeros. He will not pledge himself to another cause.”

“Meet me in my chambers Brienne. I will write back to Jon.” Sansa saw that she was conflicted. “What tis’ the matter?”

“We are still searching for the deserter.”

“Most likely the cold got him.” _Or a wolf tore him to pieces._ “There is a good chance he is dead. I need you to be here with me. I cannot face those lords alone.”

_Not this time around. They will surely hate me when I tell them this news about Jon._

“Very well.” She took her command.

 

Sansa blew on the paper to make the ink dry faster. She had written to her brother to keep him up to date on the happenings at Winterfell, how the lords began to doubt that he would return and also how they began to mock him openly. She refused to write the names they were calling Jon. Many of the men were fickle and demanded answers and solutions to their questions. It seemed she had few allies, except Brienne, Maester Coleman and Robett Glover. As winter arrived, many of the men grew prickly because of it. Giving her attention to them was some form of hellish torment for Sansa because they would always see her as a girl and that alone was a strike against their pride.

_I am Lord Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark’s eldest daughter. The blood of Winterfell runs through my veins. Shouldn’t that be enough for them?_

Jon was thousands of miles away and the more she thought of him, the more angrier she grew. There were reports that Daenerys Targaryen has three large dragons that breathed fired and burnt men on her command. Sansa could not imagine seeing anything as monstrous as a dragon. They were something out of nightmares. Aegon the Conqueror took Westeros on the back of such a beast over a hundred years ago.

Before long Sansa had Brienne read letters to her, to eliminate which ones needed her immediate response and which ones could wait. The Corbrays wanted more grain. Lord Lyonel Corbray claimed that his wife was with child but it was later discovered that one of his sons was running some sort of brothel and was in major debt to the Iron Bank. He wanted to pay off some of the debt with grain and Sansa refused to give it. Brienne read what was most likely the seventh letter he sent to Winterfell. She picked up another letter to read.

“Lady Mormont would like a proper burial for the sixty men from House Mormont fallen in battle when Jon took Winterfell back from the Boltons.”

“Those men were burned, as for the rest of them that lost their lives that day. When was that letter sent?”

“Three, maybe four fortnights ago.” Lady Brienne cleared her throat. “She would like for a monument to be built in honor of those men.”

“Of course. We owe a great debt to House Mormont. I will have a skilled craftsman build one.” Sansa scribbled on a scroll in reply and had Brienne engrave it in wax and the Stark sigil.

“Do you know of a Ser Jorah Mormont?”

Sansa replied, “Not really, I heard my father exiled him once.”

“Well, it says here that he has returned to Westeros and he serves Daenerys Targaryen. Lady Mormont says he has disgraced their family and should never return home.”

“How did he come to be loyal to Daenerys Targaryen?”

“I do not know my lady.”

 _My father should have taken his head._ Sansa signed a few more letters and had Brienne pour wax and seal them. The final letter she wrote was to Castle Black to release Cregan Stark. Alys Karstark had been bedridden lately and Sansa visited her whenever she could.

“Please send these off for me and…will you help me today to face those men? I am not as brave as you Brienne.”

“Yes, you are.”

“What would I do without you?”

“Plenty. You have your mother’s strength and spirit. I miss Lady Catelyn. I wish I could have been there to…” Brienne bowed her head, “Forgive me, it has been a while since I had a proper conversation about something other than war. I will send ravens for these letters and meet with you in the Great Hall.”

Brienne turned on her heel to leave. Only halting when Sansa spoke again.

“Lord Baelish told me what you did for my mother. How you protected her. I will forever be grateful for that.”

Brienne glanced her way, “It was an honor to serve your mother.”

Sansa continued scribbling her signature to letters, and blowing on the paper to make it dry quickly. The last letter she read over and over again with uncertainty. The words getting jumbled in her mind. She wrote it the day after Littlefinger and Nestor Royce left for the Eyrie. It was meant for Cersei Lannister.

_Sweetrobin is dead. LittleFinger is Lord Protector of the Vale. I have no claim to it, unless he means to marry me off to someone. Who?_

The last time she saw Cersei Lannister, formally the Queen Regent, the woman clutched her dead son in her arms and was half mad shouting orders to throw Tyrion Lannister in a dungeon. She could still hear the woman’s voice echoing to find her, find the Stark girl. Sansa thought she would end up headless in a ditch before sundown the night Ser Dontos led her to safety.

_If it wasn’t for my Florian, I would not be alive. Contrary another thought led her. No, it was Lord Baelish that saved me from Cersei’s wrath. He has been kind. He wants me to send this letter. It is expected of me._

Sansa wiped a tear from her face. She knew not why she cried, only that she was conflicted. Petyr Baelish is so many things. He is Lord of Harrenhall and once the childhood friend of Catelyn Stark. He was Master of Coin and he sat at many a council. He could be a good friend and listener to those in need, but when Sansa thought of the other things he has done, it frightened her. At times she felt he knew her more than she knew herself. She wiped her tears with anger and clutched the letter to her breasts.

 

***

Jory Cassel once taught Sansa and Jeyne Poole how to make snow angels one winter when to their delight the heavens dropped a heap of snow that covered the godswoods like a white blanket as far as the eye could see. Sansa and Jeyne took turns laying on the snow covered earth, swinging their arms and legs back and forth to make prints that looked like angel wings. By the time they were finished, Sansa thought she had gotten frostbite because she could not feel her hands and feet. Jeyne complained that she could not walk so Jory carried her inside like a cradled babe. That memory came and went as Sansa sat under the weirwood tree. Her cheeks were beginning to feel numb from sitting there for so long stewing in her thoughts. The cold wind would take a swipe at her every now and then and she would close her eyes, only to open them again and see that she was still at Winterfell. There was a time when she would rather be anywhere else in the world than home, but when she finally tasted what it was like to live in King’s Landing, in another culture, amongst courtly folk who told tall tales and were only generous for potential gain, she came to realize how wrong she was about home. The North was cold and the people even colder at times, but it was like no other.

Sansa did not know why she still came to the weirwood tree. It was out of habit or comfort, most like, because she had long stopped praying. She supposed she wanted to be reminded of her father. Although not there in flesh, Lord Eddard was there in spirit. Behind her she heard the rustling of branches near one of the footpaths, she thought it was the wind until she heard footprints crunching the snow.

“Brienne, I will be there in a moment. Tell the lords..” She stopped speaking and froze with fear feeling the cold touch of a blade.

“Make one sound bitch and I’ll cut your pretty throat.”

The voice was harsh and breathy. Sansa dared not move a muscle. Suddenly she felt strong hands yank her up to her feet, the blade still at her throat.

“What do you want?”

“Shut up.” His dirty hand pulled at strands of her hair and pressed it to his nose. “You’re highborn. Lit’tle good that’ll do you. You should’a stayed inside that fine castle.” His breath was foul, the stink of it made Sansa feel ill.

“Please ser, I will give you anything.” She pleaded. _Where are you Brienne?_ If only she could call to her.

“Anything?” The breathy voice chuckled, “It’s been o’ long while since I’ve had a nice fuck. Night’s Watch forbids it, but I ain’t with those lads no more. Fraid’ my cock doesn’t work though. Been freezing it off in these woods for days now.”

_The deserter that escaped, I thought him dead._

“I can give you coin and provisions, if you spare my life.”

“I said shut up,” He grabbed a handful of her hair. Sansa winced, her heart beginning to race. The man moved her forward with his legs. From the way he moved, she sensed the foul man was injured. “The manly woman cut me good fore’ I could finish her.”

 _If only I can reach behind me and press down hard on his wound._ The blade was under her throat now. If she moved an inch, he would surely cut her. Sansa remembered there was a wall of stone that encircled the frozen pool, except it was covered in snow.

_He will not see it._

“I need food, then I’ll steal one o’ your horses, but first you will call off the search. Do you hear me?”

Her voice trembled,“Yes. The door is this way.” She lied.

“I’m not goin’ inside. I’ll wait here while you tell your fancy lords.”

“How can I go inside when you still have that to my throat?” The deserter knicked with the blade in response. Sansa closed her eyes regretting that she spoke too soon, feeling the warmth of blood on her neck; she nearly stumbled.

_This is it. I’m going to die and Brienne will find my body frozen and bruised._

Sooner than she knew it, Sansa tumbled over the hidden wall of stone, the Night’s Watch deserter tumbled over with her into the snow. Seeing her chance to escape, she scrambled to her feet. The man pulled the hem of her dress, ripping it. Sansa kicked and somehow her foot found the man’s wound. He howled in pain. She tried to run, instead tripping over her torn hem. Her ankle took the brunt of the fall. She swore she must have broken it, but ignored the pain to fend off the foul man again. He lost his blade in the snow, but now he lunged forward on top of her. Sansa screamed. He rolled her over on her back in the snow and covered her mouth with his filthy hands. The sound of him struggling and grunting to get out of his jerkin was all she could hear. She struggled against him until, her muscles began to tire under his weight. His cock was hard and his breath disgusting as he tried to lift her skirts. She felt she was back in King’s Landing again in the alleyway.

_Am I dreaming?_

A dark figure loomed over them in the snow. She thought it was the Hound, come again to save her. Whoever it was, the deserter stopped struggling to rape her and his head was pulled up by large, gloved hands. Sansa’s eyes grew with fright when she saw the man impaled from behind with a sword. His blood spraying over newly fallen snow. The body dropped dead to the ground, eyes still open. Fearing she might be killed next, Sansa rolled over and began to crawl away. Cold and afraid, her ankle was now throbbing.

“Easy child.” The looming figure had a voice.

“Who are you?” Sansa could barely cry out in pain as the figure in black lifted her gently in his arms.

“Brynden Tully, others call me Blackfish.”

She closed her eyes and tried not to think of the wind blowing at her face and the throbbing of her ankle.

 

6

“Maester get in here!” Brienne stripped Sansa out of her cloak and ripped part of her tunic to wipe the blood from her neck.

“Are the lords still seated in the Great Hall?” Sansa asked, sitting up and clenching her teeth from the pain in her ankle.

“Fuck those lords. You were nearly killed and I failed to protect you because I was occupied with their quick tempers.”

Maester Coleman entered the room with milk of the poppy and other remedies.

“What happened?” he asked frightened. He stripped her feet of the riding boots. Her ankle was swollen and a bruise started to form.

“I was attacked by the escaped deserter.”

“Is he dead?” Brienne inquired.

“Yes, I think so.” Then Sansa remembered, “I was saved by…” Blackfish entered the room and closed the door.

Brienne gasped. “You came back. I thought you were dead, but then I saw you at that tavern…”

He shrugged out of his cloak and hung it on a notch on the wall, "I thought I was dead.” His voice was calm, “ one of the Lannister guards, took a spear to my thigh fore’ I killed him and used him to keep me afloat the river. This wound here festered and I caught fever. Three days on the road alone, mad with fever, seeing ghosts, until a tavern wench found me and nursed me back to health.”

Brienne interrupted, “But Jaime Lannister, he took Riverrun.”

“Aye. That he did, but Jaime was never clever and the Lannister army is a clumsy set made up o’ green boys with no guts for real war.”

“What about Edmure Tully?”

“What about him?”

“Is he alive?” Sansa asked.

Blackfish mused, stroking his short beard. “Yes, he is alive. But don’t expect him to come help you. Edmure has always been craven and now that his wife and child are Lannister property, he is lost.”

“Can you stay?”

“That’s why I’m ere’ child.

Brienne stood and armed herself with _Oathkeeper_ again.

Sansa watched her, “Where are you going?”

“To burn the deserter’s body.”

“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll do it.” He took up his cloak again, fastened his sword and sheath to his belt.

“Ser Brynden?”

“No need to be formal.”

“No one else must know you are here. Only us.” Sansa eyed Brienne and Maester Coleman. “This stays between us.”

“Aye, I work best at stayin’ hidden.”

Brienne sat back down again as they watched the tall, lean Blackfish disappear. He was old, but by the way he moved no one could ever guess it.

“Rest now.” Maester Coleman gave her milk of the poppy for the pain. Before long, Sansa drifted off into a peaceful sleep.

 

***

Tender, deft hands placed a poultice on her bruised ankle. These were not Maester Coleman’s hands. These hands were younger and less familiar with tending to wounds, but she recognized them regardless. Sansa sat up slowly, startling Petyr Baelish.

“I thought you were asleep,” he chuckled.

“I was.” Her voice was cracked. “Water?”

He poured some for her and watched her drink it. Sansa didn’t quite understand why he was tending to her in the first place.

“Where is Maester Coleman?”

“I suppose he has his nose in a book. I told him to give us a moment to catch up.”

“When did you arrive?”

“This morning.”

“You must tell me everything,” her eyes pleaded.

“First you must tell me how you became bedridden?”

Sansa gulped, “A man tried to kill me. He was a deserter from the Night’s Watch. Lady Brienne offered to bring these deserters back to Winterfell to face execution for their crimes, but one of them escaped. He attacked me in the godswoods.”

“Ah, I see, how did you survive?” He said inquiringly

“Brienne, she saved me.” _Did he sense the lie?_

Sansa watched him listening and stroking the beard on his chin.

“You have gotten very close to her. She is a fierce protector no doubt.” He patted her hand gently, “I do not know what I would do if I lost you. You are special to me Sansa.”

She sat up again,“Your turn to tell me what happened to you? Sweetrobin? Is he really…”

“Dead? I’m afraid so. You did not get my message?”

“I did receive it. I was in disbelief.”

“Oh my dear Sansa,” he hugged her softly, his embrace felt strange and yet comforting. “I tried to save him, but it was too late. By the time I arrived, the poor boy’s body was brought out by Bronze Yohn. He…hung himself.” For the first time ever, Sansa saw Littlefinger emotional. His eyes glistened over. _Is he crying? I never knew him to cry. I never knew he could be so torn up over someone’s death._

“They buried him next to his father. We didn’t have time to draw up a headstone so I have to go back and honor young Sweetrobin.” He wiped his eyes with his hands. “Forgive me, my feelings ran away from me.”

“I have never seen you cry before.”

“And you will never see me cry again. I have only done so for two people in my life. Sweetrobin and…your mother Catelyn.”

Sansa reached out and touched his hands, with reassurance. Petyr Baelish kissed both of her hands. “Tell me more Lord Baelish. How did you end the siege at the Eyrie?”

“I did not end it sweetling. The Lannister army was commanded to end the siege and return to King’s Landing by none other than Cersei Lannister. Jaime was not at the Eyrie after all. He set his sights on Highgarden, poisoned Oleanna Tyrell who was defenseless and the only surviving member of her family and took off with all the Tyrell’s fortune. He was escorting wagons of grain, coin and trinkets before Daenerys Targaryen attacked on an open field.”

“Daenerys Targaryen?” Sansa replied in surprise.

“Oh yes, they say she rode in on the back of her largest dragon and scorched the fields to a crisp. They say it was so hot that men boiled beneath their leather and armor before the dragon flames touched them. The air smelled of sulfur and rotting flesh.”

Sansa gulped again, “This is the woman that Jon means to bend the knee to? He cannot do it. She will murder him. She will burn him alive.”

“Or not. Tales of her beauty have been told and she is young. Jon is also young.” Littlefinger mused, “ Never ye mind. Take comfort in my words Sansa, you will see your brother again. I will let you rest and I must eat something. I am famished.”

He stood and fixed his mockingbird pendant.

“Lord Baelish, did Lord Nestor come back with you?”

“Nestor Royce fled not shortly after his son Ser Albar was beheaded by one of those Kettlebacks. I haven’t the faintest idea where he is gone.”

“But he is Keeper of the Gates of the Moon?”

Littlefinger smirked, “He was. Remember when I told you what lies and Arbor gold can do?”

_Nestor Royce is dead. He was never meant to be the true Keeper of the Gates. Someone will find his broken body on the rocks below the Eyrie having been thrown through the Moon door._

“Yes. I remember you told me when I was Alayne. What will happen with the Eyrie?”

“Jon Arryn is dead, your Aunt Lysa is dead and Sweetrobin is dead. That leaves you to take it. It is rightfully yours.” He brushed her cheek with his fingers. “Ours. Together we will unite Winterfell and the Eyrie.”

 

***

_Together we will unite Winterfell and the Eyrie…_

Those words echoed in Sansa’s thoughts. She stood on the balustrade overlooking the sea of newly fallen snow that scattered the ground, covering the catapult they used to defeat the Boltons and the stables where one could hear the horses whinnying at times from lack of sleep due to the never ending cold. It was quiet throughout Winterfell. There was a reason she wanted Blackfish to meet her at this hour. The cold would only serve as another reason for her to talk in secret without expecting others to overhear. The snow started falling again, when Blackfish made his presence known.

“Blimey, it’s cold,” he remarked.

“I hadn’t noticed.”

Sansa could feel the smile that came upon the man’s face. When she turned to meet him, his dark eyes were mysterious and the lines from his crow’s feet softened once he stopped smiling.

“You remind me of Cat. She paid no shits to nonsense. Pardon me, do you mind if I sit on this stool ere’? Been walking all day, my arse hasn’t had o’ good seat to sit on. Not even a tree stump.”

Sansa motioned a gesture to the stool with the walking cane that Maester Coleman fashioned for her to ease the strain on her ankle until it healed. Blackfish took a seat. The man rested his back against the wall and stretched his long legs outward. She heard a few of his joints crack.

“How is your ankle?”

“It will heal in no time.”

He exhaled, “What can I do for you child?”

“I need you to be a gravedigger.”

“Aye, I see. Where exactly do you need me to dig up a grave?”

She hesitated, “The Eyrie. I need you to dig up the body of Robert Arryn and bring it back here. His grave is unmarked.”

Blackfish pondered in thought, “Somethin’ tells me this has to do with the man that arrived ere’ yesterday. What’s his name? Long finger?

“Littlefinger. Although his real name is Petyr Baelish. ”

“That’s it. I remember the lad when he was a young boy, he came to stay with us at Riverrun. He took a liking to Cat, pranced around her like a deer. Never wanted to be parted from her side. Lysa loved him so. Cat was fond o’ him but didn’t want him for a husband. I recall Brandon Stark almost caved his chest in one day over Cat.”

 _I remember hearing this story from Aunt Lysa._ “Can you tell me more about that day?” Sansa replied.

“O I don’t remember much. Getting older has a way o’ shaving off time. Let’s see…Cat was about ten and five I think. Lysa a bit younger and foolish. They were staying at the Eyrie for summer. Brandon had already claimed Cat’s hand in marriage you see. Long finger thought he could win her hand at a duel. Foolishly he challenged Brandon, thrice as stronger and trained at killing. He was but a small thing. It only took two or three swipes to take him down. Before long Jon Arryn shipped the lad off to the South somewhere and separated him from Cat.”

“That’s it? Did he not try to do anything else?”

_Lord Baelish never gives up so easily. He is clever. He tells clever lies like it is truth._

“What else could he do child?” It was as if Blackfish registered disappointment on her face and began telling more of the tale, “If I recall, he would not take ‘no’ for an answer. He kicked and screamed when Jon Arryn shipped him off and continued to write letters to Cat. It was only when Brandon Stark was murdered by the Mad King and she wed your father that the letters stopped.”

“My mother told you this?”

“Aye, I was piss drink but remember her saying that at some feast.” Sansa bundled up in her cloak, shivering down to her bone now. “Long finger was by Jon Arryn’s side when he died.”

She froze completely. The cold numbed her entire body, but had nothing to do with the knot that formed in the pit of her stomach.

“Are you alright child?”

“How do you know that Littlefinger was by Jon Arryn’s side?”

“I went down to King’s Landing with a party o’ five other Knights. We come to report that bastard Gregor Clegane for his crimes. We had been reporting his crimes for years, but Robert did nothin’. Just sat on his fat arse and let the Seven Kingdoms rot. You hear lots o’ chatter in the taverns. One green boy talked about all the whispers from the King’s close circle. That was one o’ the stories I overheard.”

_Seven hells. How could I have been so blind? Ravings he called them. Aunt Lysa was not raving mad when she said that she poisoned…she did for him._

“You don’t look too good.”

“I don’t feel so well, not at all. Can you take me inside? Just to the hidden entrance over there.”

“Take my arm child.”

Blackfish stood and he became her protector once again. They came down from the landing, and trotted together through the snow to one of the hidden entrances to Winterfell. His strong hands moved the heavy stone and Sansa ducked her head to get inside. The warm air was inviting, but she still felt ill.

“I will be your gravedigger,” Blackfish said to her, before rolling the stone back in place, the cold winds and falling snow hushed.

 

7

“So Jon Snow means to bend the knee to a Targaryen?”

One of the lords confronted Sansa interrupting her before she could finish. They were all huddled around tables in the Great Hall again. Lords from great and small houses, listening to the solutions that Sansa tried to present to them.

“Jon means well. I don’t think he will pledge fealty to Daenerys if there is a better option before him.”

The lord gave her a hateful look,“Are you Starks so craven?” Cheers rang out and more and more lords stood in protest.

Sansa stood up using her cane, quieting the room.

“I am here to speak on my brother’s behalf because he believes that the army of the dead is marching towards us at this very moment. I am here to accommodate your needs so that your families are safe from harm, but I will not take such insolence ever again. My family has ruled the North for centuries. Ever since Bran the Builder we Starks have done what it takes to secure the North. Do not forget that.”

The lord gave a smug smirk, “I spit on that.” He bent over and spat on the floor in a most abrasive manner.

“Shut up and sit down now!” Robett Glover shouted.

“Or what?”

Brienne drew _Oathkeeper_ , the tip of it kissing the lord’s neck.

“…or I’ll cut your throat.” When the man placed a hand on his dagger, she stepped closer to him, letting him feel the sharpness, “Try me and you’ll see. Your brethren here will be picking up your tongue before the end of the night.”

Lord Glover spoke again, “Sit down and show Lady Sansa some respect. I will not say it again.”

The lord sat down, keeping his hand on the hilt of the dagger. Brienne lowered Oathkeeper careful not to turn her back to the proud lord.

“You say Jon has not bent the knee to this Targaryen yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he does.”

 _My only ally in Lord Glover is slowly taking the side of these iron lords._ Sansa grew frustrated, “There might be something in this that Jon sees but we don’t because we are not at Dragonstone with him.”

“Spare me the sugary talk, my lady. When a man pledges fealty, it only means one thing…defeat. Reports from the South say that this Mad King’s daughter annihilated half of the Lannister army with only one dragon. Imagine what destruction she can do with three of them.”

One man shouted, “ Lord Baelish says she burned men alive, even the ones that surrendered!”

 _He’s been talking to them?_ She quickly glanced at Littlefinger who was off to the corner watching her like a hawk. Clearing her throat,

“Lord Baelish? Do you wish to share something?”

All eyes reverted to Petyr Baelish who leaned against the wall wrapped in a fur cloak.

“Me? Lady Sansa I am but a lowly lord. What I think about this situation does not matter.”

“It does to me. Come forward Lord Baelish. Let us hear your wisdom.”

With apprehension and need of coaxing from some of the other lords, Petyr Baelish strode to the front of the Great Hall. He stood idly before the table that has seated many great lords and ladies of House Stark.

He took one long breath before speaking, “I have heard that Daenerys Targaryen has a horde of Dothraki and Unsullied, along with three, fully grown dragons. It only took her ancestor Aegon to bring Westeros to its knees with one. But there is something else that may have gone unnoticed to you Lady Sansa. Daenerys has aligned herself with Dorne where Prince Doran sits comfortably with Princess Myrcella in his midst. We cannot rely on Cersei to march an army to Dorne for this reason. Myrcella is Cersei’s only living child and heir. She will not risk bringing harm to her daughter while Myrcella is in Dorne, however….if we have Myrcella, she can be of great use to us.”

The room quieted down with a few whispers and quick mumblings.

Sansa watched Littlefinger, the way he held one hand over the other and surveyed his surroundings with inquisitive eyes.

Lord Glover gawked, “You mean to tell me that you want us to capture Princess Myrcella?”

“If you call it that. I rather think of her as an investment and the North can achieve many a great thing with Lannister gold in their purse. Jaime Lannister was willing to start another war for the Imp when he was captured, imagine what Cersei would do for her daughter when she is captured? Once the North has Myrcella, Cersei will lash out in anger and attack Dorne, leaving Daenerys to diffuse the situation. All we need is one Lannister arrow, one Dornish dagger right through Daenerys Targaryen’s heart and the North will be victorious.”

“But the dragons?” Brienne inquired.

Littlefinger mused, “A dragon is useless without it’s dragonrider.” Sansa met his eyes, they were smiling with mischief and delight. “Lady Sansa, I believe that it is possible this is the way we can win.”

_You mean this is the way you can win._

“Aye, what do you think brethren?” Lord Glover said. There were a couple of cheers and curses, and some that remained quiet. “What do you think Lady Sansa? Does Lord Baelish speak wisdom or nought?”

She chose her words carefully, “We would need men to do this task of capturing Myrcella from Dorne. You would risk the entire Vale army?”

Brienne replied, “What about the Golden Company? Sellswords will join any cause for gold.”

“We don’t have the gold Brienne, nor the ships to sail to Essos. ” She returned her gaze to Littlefinger, “Lord Baelish what do you suggest?”

“We do not need an army my lady. This will take stealth and precision, a few good men will do.”

 _He means for me to send Brienne to Dorne. I shall be defenseless and alone here without protection._ “Very well. Let me decide what to do.” Sansa replied.

The lords let out a cheer and ale sloshed in their mugs as they drank heartily. A drunken lord stood and spoke,

“Lord Baelish, you shoulda said somethin’ sooner. We needed a man to come up with the plans ‘round ere’. Instead of waiting to get fucked in the arse by the dragon whore Queen. A toast to Lord Baelish!”

Other cheers rang out toasting to Petyr Baelish. Sansa sat down in her seat marveling at the crowd of lords who suddenly became his supporters.

 

***

The young scullery maiden had a name after all. Freya she called herself. There were nights when Freya crept from the room where her mother and brother slept to the winding staircase that led to the upstairs hallway where Eddard Stark and Catelyn Stark use to sleep. The chambers now belonged to Sansa. The young girl knocked on the door with her tiny knuckles and Sansa opened it, greeting her with a hug.

“How was your day today?”

“Good m’lady. Although I don’t like making meat pies anymore.”

“Why not?”

Freya made a sour face, “The flour goes up my nose and makes me cough.” Sansa chuckled pinching the girl’s little nose between her two fingers.

“Ok, we shall find something else for you to do in the kitchen.”

“Thank you m’lady.”

“I brought some sweets for you. Would you like some?”

She nodded. Sansa reached into her pocket bringing out candied ginger and mint gumdrops. The girl sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the fire in the hearth while Sansa dropped each one of the sweets into her palm.

“Try not to eat all of them. Save some for the morrow.”

A knock on the door alarmed them both. Sansa put a finger to her mouth so the girl would know not to make a sound.

“Who is it?”

“It tis’ me. Open the door my lady.”

She opened it to a crack, “Maester Coleman? What tis’ the matter?”

“Come with me immediately.”

“Hold on.” She closed the door and whispered to Freya. “Will you be alright if I step outside for a bit?”

The maiden nodded and went back to her sweets. Sansa wrapped her shawl around her shoulders before opening and closing the door behind her. She followed the Maester all the way to his quarters. When she entered after him, Blackfish stood before them but he looked different. His hair was shaved off his head and he was likewise clean shaven. The grey beard now gone.

“Ser Brynden…” Sansa clutched her shawl. He motioned to the body outlined in a veil of white stretched out on the table. She stepped closer to it. “I need to see his face.”

Maester Coleman locked the door behind him before giving her a torch. She pulled the veil halfway and used the firelight to illuminate the face. Robert Arryn lay there dead, his eyes closed and mouth in a thin, straight line. It was strange to see him at peace until something else caught her attention. Bruises that were blue and faded near his throat. She covered her mouth and nose from the stench.

Blackfish spoke for the first time, “I cover’d the body in lye and stuffed the box with fruit but o’ corpse will still smell like o’ corpse.” He took the torch from Sansa and pulled the veil back over Sweetrobin’s face.

“I’ve already examined the body my lady,” the Maester said. “The neck is broken.”

“But the bruises are from the rope he used to hang himself.”

“If he died from rope strangulation than his collar bone should not be broken. The bone was shattered.”

“So it was foul play?” She questioned. Her hand reflexively covered her mouth from the shock of it all.

 _Poor Sweetrobin. I can only imagine the fear and agony he felt in his last moments._ “We must burn the body. There is no time to return it to the Eyrie.”

“I’ll take care of that. There’s a bounty out my head so I’d best be goin’ ” Blackfish said.

“I thought we are the only ones that know you are alive?”

“Thought so too til’ I saw my face all over the walls of some inn. So I was forced to change my appearance and improvise.” He picked the body up and threw it over one shoulder.

“Be careful, I hope to see you again one day.” Sansa told him.

Blackfish uttered, ”You will child.” Opening the door they came through and shutting it behind him to go off into the night.

 

Before sleep took her, Sansa cried tears of anger. She cried for Sweetrobin, mother and father and Robb. She tossed and turned fighting away all the guilt she felt for not protecting Rickon, Bran, and Arya. All of her pain and anguish spilled over into a violent dream. She was in the midst of a battle, arrows raining down impaling men, men falling on their swords and horses being brutalized. As she ran trying to escape the clashing of swords and hordes of men fighting, her feet stepped in pools of blood and muck. She tasted death, even came near to it. When she stopped in her path to freedom to help a fallen boy, she turned him over to see the face of Rickon. Sansa kissed the dead boy’s face and cried in anguish. When she looked at Rickon again, his face had changed into Arya.

“Noooooo!” Sansa screamed. Suddenly she was engulfed by a ring of fire and no longer on a battlefield. When she tried to escape the flames, three large dragons prowled around baring sharp teeth and flaring nostrils. The flames grew in size and the heat threatened to scorch her.

“Brienne!” Sansa called out, “Jon where are you? Please, help me!”

One of the dragons flicked its tailed. She ducked low, before it nearly took off her head. She huddled in the center of the circle as the flames licked at her and sweat poured from her brows. She closed her eyes waiting for one of the terrifying dragons to eat her, when she opened her eyes again, the ring of fire was gone as well as the dragons. To Sansa’s surprise, a beautiful silver-haired woman stood before her. The woman’s clothes were made of a white silk that hugged her small frame and delicate breasts. She gave off an ethereal glow that both frightened and intrigued Sansa. When she walked forward, Sansa retreated until she saw the woman hold out her hand, her voice a soothing cadence.

“I will not harm you. I am here to help. Lend me your hand.”

Tenuously Sansa reached out, but once she clasped her hand, the woman disappeared in a veil of smoke. She awoke from the dream, still feeling the phantom hand of the silver-haired woman she encountered.

_I must write to Jon. He must know what Littlefinger means to do._

Sansa Stark broke her fast with Brienne of Tarth over honey covered biscuits and fried sausages. It was a quiet morning but she suspected that would change by midday. They needed to draw up plans on how to infiltrate Dorne and smuggle the Princess out without anyone knowing, least of all Prince Doran.

“My lady, is something wrong? You have barely touched your food,” Brienne’s yellow hair was stringy, pulled back into a messy bun. The woman looked slightly feminine in her tunic that she wore with a belt that cinched her waist.

“I am quite well,” Sansa replied. “It must be the glum weather that keeps me occupied in thought.”

“Frankly, I am worried about you. You’ve lost a bit of weight.”

“Have I? When I was a little girl, I use to throw a fit over things like that. I would have stuffed myself with lemon cakes to get back my lovely figure.” They shared a laugh together, “But those days are long gone.” The concern on Brienne’s face gave way for Sansa to ask her the question she wanted to ask. She didn’t want to hide her thoughts. It felt comforting to talk to someone.

“Do you mean to go to Dorne?”

“To capture the Princess Myrcella?” She grimaced, “I want no part of it. I do not think this is something Jon would want, but you are the Lady of Winterfell and you think it tis’ the right decision.”

_No. I don’t. But I must do something to keep you safe from harm. You will not be safe as long as Littlefinger is here._

“I would like for you to go on this expedition to retrieve the Princess.” Brienne was startled, she pushed away her half-eaten plate of food.

“Why? My place is by your side. I will never leave you again.”

“Brienne you are my most trusted and loyal servant. I could not ask for a better protector, but you remain idle here, subject to the derision of entitled men and the women look down on you too.”

“I do not care what they think. Do I shame you? Is that it?”

“No! Of course not.” _If only you knew, what I know._

Sansa continued, “I regard you with the highest respect and I know that when you unsheath your sword you mean to defend with honor until your last dying breath. Myrcella will need someone like you guarding her life, day and night. I do not trust these men to do it.”

Brienne pushed away her chair and stood, “You cannot ask me to leave your side.” Sansa stood up and held her hand,

“Please, Brienne listen to me. I know what you did for my mother. When she asked you to escort Jaime Lannister safely to King’s Landing hoping that it would free her daughters. Is this not the same thing?”

“No!” she lowered her voice after the outburst, “it is not the same thing Sansa.”

“But Myrcella is innocent compared to her uncle. If you do not go, she will die.”

The woman was stubborn and Sansa knew that when she made up her mind, it could not be changed. Her blue eyes were unrelenting as she pulled her hand away and left the room, leaving Sansa to eat alone.

 

***

Voices drifted in and out of the solar room. When Sansa entered through the door, all the company paused to look and took in her appearance. She wore a green velvet dress with matching green string that laced all the way up the back and russet colored boots, her hair was done up in a crown braid courtesy of the young Freya who had a natural talent for doing lady’s hair. She had no need for the walking cane anymore. Her ankle healed quite well, the bruise nearly gone.

“You look lovely my lady,” Cley Cerwyn complimented her. Five other lords uttered his same compliments, including Robett Glover and Petyr Baelish. A table was set up and scrolls of map that depicted Westeros cities, towns, rivers and lakes was stretched out from the farthest North near the Wall, to the Twins, all the way to the South before the Narrow sea took up the rest of the southern border.

“I have already selected a few of my men for the expedition.” Lord Glover declared, “My son is a fine warrior and can protect the little Princess.”

“Very kind of you Lord Glover, but I think my knights can do it. I have several of them from the Vale, all qualified enough. With your permission of course, Lady Sansa.”

She gulped, “Yes, if they are perfectly capable.”

“I assure you they are not incapable.” Lord Baelish poured two cups of wine from a flagon and handed one cup to her. “Take a sip, it will warm you.”

_He knows I distrust him. He knows that I treat him coldly. Do not be so forlorn around him, foolish girl._

“Thank you,” she took a sip of the warm wine. She found herself staring at Ser Lothor Brune, Aunt Lysa’s most trust bodyguard who was now closely tied to Petyr Baelish since her death,

“Ser Lothor, it tis’ so good to see you. I take it you just arrived?” She curtsied, he held her hand and kissed it.

“Yes, I was occupied after the siege. Lord Baelish told me to stay behind and be one of the ones to safeguard the castle. I did just that.”

“Were you harmed?”

“No, my lady. But I did see most of the carnage that happened.” Ser Lothor’s wore a grey doublet with a robe the colors of House Arryn, blue and white clasp around his shoulders with a Falcon crest sigil pin. He seemed to keep his distance from the lords talking over the plans. Littlefinger listening keenly to them while glimpsing every now and then to look at her and Ser Lothor Brune.

“Tell me, who will be the new Keeper of the Gates if Nestor Royce has fled?”

Ser Lothor cleared his throat, “The Lords Declarant are there trying to sort it out. Lady Waynwood, Lord Redfort, Lord Templeton, I recall were there when I left.”

“Bronze Yohn Royce?” She inquired.

“If you want to know all of who arrived shortly after the siege ended, I suggest you ask Lord Baelish. Good day.”

He walked toward the table completely eclipsing Sansa. She felt like a small shrub having been denied water or sunlight. Most of them seemed to forget she entered the room, absorbed in conversation and drinking wine amongst themselves. She felt sad and the wine did not help warm or cheer her spirits. Just when she set down her cup on the mantle of the fireplace, Brienne entered. The woman, directed her gaze over to the men. She strode over and interrupted.

“Excuse me my lords. I don’t mean to interrupt, but I believe that I can be of service on this expedition. I volunteer to retrieve Princess Myrcella from Dorne and escort her safely back to Winterfell.”

Lord Glover spoke up, “That is not necessary.”

“My lady would disagree.”

Her blue eyes sparkled as she gave Sansa a reassuring look. For the first time, Sansa Stark felt visible since entering the solar.

“Yes, I would like for Lady Brienne to go. She is a skill swordsman and she is very useful. I trust her with my own life.”

As the lords finished their mulled wine and selected the six men and one woman who would go to Dorne, the company exited the solar. Some of them seemed content while others were less than that. Sansa could deem by their faces that many of them thought that she intruded on their original plans. The plan they had initially settled on was to sail to Sunspear and pose as merchants. The Dornish were known to entertain merchants. Trading with them made up a good portion of the economy, but after deliberations and the indignation of Brienne who would not let the lords silence her voice, they settled on creating an elaborate diversion on the sea of Dorne. They were placing a bet that Prince Doran would send out half his entire army out of fear that his kingdom was being attacked. His Kingsguard who guarded the Princess would be relieved of their positions to protect the kingdom. That way Dorne was weak, defenseless enough for seven unassuming persons to get into the same room with the Princess and smuggle her out. The whole ordeal made Sansa nervous. She worried what Jon would say and she had yet to tell him.

_He will surely be vexed with me._

“Come, sit with me by the fireside.” Lord Baelish beckoned her to a chair when the company had gone. He took a seat after she sat. The fire crackled and popped, wood splintering. “Inquiring minds think alike, so I too worry about the consequences of the siege and Sweetrobin’s death. I saw you talking to Ser Lothor. He told me you are worrisome and asked about the future of the Eyrie.”

“Yes, I did ask him some questions. I believe I have a right to know what will happen.”

“That you do and these questions will be answered in due time.”

 _He spins clever lies again. Will he tell me the truth of how Sweetrobin really died? It is the least he can do._ The thought sent a shiver down her spine.

“Ser Lothor told me that The Lords Declarant are at the Eyrie.”

Lord Baelish chuckled heartily and waved a flippant hand, “Ah, The Lords Declarant. They show up like a traveling troupe of circus performers every time there is a disturbance.”

“Did you expect them to show so soon?”

He laughed as if Sansa told him a jape, “Why yes? The whole lot of them are so proud. They forget that they can be so easily replaced. They have been six hundred Lords Declarant in the history of the Eyrie. Soon there will be six hundred and one.”

_What does he mean by that?_

She started to feel anxious, “Will they summon you to be in they’re presence like the last time we were at the Eyrie, when I was Alayne?”

“No, but I suspect they will pay us a visit at Winterfell. Lady Waynwood would want to hear the details of Sweetrobin’s death no doubt. I’d rather tell it to her than the others. She is the least prickly and the only one I can somewhat take seriously.”

Littlefinger itched a scratch under the collar of his doublet.

“What’s wrong?” Sansa asked.

“The fabric is ripping and it tis’ irritating.”

“I can sow it and return it to you on the morrow.”

He clasped his hands together, “Did you sow your dress?”

“Yes.” She shyly replied.

“How lovely it tis’. Sansa Stark has many talents indeed and she is ripe with so much more potential, if only she would reach out and grasp it.”

“I..” she paused feeling the blood rushing to her cheeks, “will you allow me to sup with you when The Lords Declarant arrive?”

He smiled but his eyes remained distant, “You are the Lady of Winterfell. You need not ask me where to go or what to do sweetling.”

She stood, smoothed her dress out to full length and curtsied.

“Good day Lord Baelish.”

“Aren’t you forgetting this?” He stood and took off his doublet, folding it gently into her arms, “the collar needs mending.”

Sansa nodded before finding Littlefinger gazing upon her face in a strange, entrancing way. He lifted her chin with one finger and kissed her softly on the lips. It last but a few seconds and yet felt like forever.

 

8

Lady Anya Waynwood arrived the following night to Winterfell alone. Her wagon was stocked with provisions as if she were traveling farther than Winterfell. Sansa welcomed her along with Lord Baelish and supper was prepared not long after. They sat together sharing pleasant stories before the meal was served, cream of potato soup with a loaf of bread.

“Tell me, is it always this cold up North? I nearly froze to death on my way here.” Lady Anya broke her bread into two halves and nibbled on a piece.

Sansa ate a spoonful of soup before replying, “Yes. Us Northerners have grown used to it.”

“Pity. I have to travel farther up North to White Harbor. Word of mouth at the Vale says, Nestor Royce supposedly fled to see Wyman Manderly but no one has seen him since. Is this true? Lord Wyman stopped sending ravens so I was forced to make a trip.”

“I do not know Lady Anya.” Sansa said,

“Nor do I know. Perchance he took refuge with his cousin Bronze Yohn.” Littlefinger took casual sips from his mug but seemed disinterested in eating. He inquired, “What of Bronze Yohn? Surely he can find Nestor’s whereabouts instead of sending you to do it.”

“I have little patience for Ser Bronze. Never have I seen someone so quick tempered but slow to act.”

Littlefinger quipped, “That makes two of us.”

“House Arryn is barely standing. Years of intermarrying has led those with some Arryn blood to deny their duty to the Vale. I cannot rely on any of them to take up the mantle to rule. Bronze Yohn should have taken Lysa’s son as ward when he had the chance to prepare the boy for leadership. Now the little lord is dead. Rest his soul.”

“Let us toast to Sweetrobin.” He said lifting his mug. Sansa drunk her ale but could barely taste it.

“Whatever happened to your daughter?”

Lady Anya’s eyes shifted to Lord Baelish waiting for a response, but Sansa answered for him.

“Alayne and I are good friends. She has come to stay here often.”

“Yes,” He added. “Alayne is well. She went off to see her mother not long ago. She doesn’t take too kindly to the cold.”

“She was such a proper lady. Sweet girl that one. Why she reminds me a bit of you Lady Sansa.”

The silence lasted longer than expected. “Shall you be staying overnight?”

“You must. The roads are iced over by now.” Lord Baelish admonished, he took a sip from his mug.

Lady Anya smiled, “You are too kind Petyr. Might it be that you would like me to stay here longer than I should?”

He laughed, “I only mean to worry for your safety.” Two scullery maids came in to serve dessert, fig pastries with a lemon sauce.

“I will skip dessert. May I have some milk instead? It helps me sleep.” Lady Waynwood said. The maid nodded and the rest of the night was spent talking over matters that made Sansa anxious each passing minute.

Lady Anya waxed on about the politics of the Vale, Queen Cersei and even a mention of the Mad King’s daughter until tiredness grew upon her. The lady began to yawn and Petyr Baelish drifted off in the mire of his thoughts. Sansa imagined he did not listen to much of what was said for the last few hours.

“I will be glad to take rest here.” Lady Anya said.

Sansa smiled, “I will tell them to prepare a room for you.”

“Thank you my dear. Before I retire for the night, I want to make it known that The Lords Declarant has come up with a solution to this unfortunate situation that has happened. Since there are no more heirs to the Vale of Arryn, someone else has to inherit it. Lord Baelish your title is unblemished. You have been honorable as the Lord Protector of the Vale. However, you cannot rule on your on own. The only way the Lords Declarant will accept the Eyrie passing down to your rule is if you marry someone related in blood to Lysa Arryn…” Lady Anya gazed at Sansa, ”marrying a Stark perhaps?”

 

***

Sansa watched from the balustrade as Littlefinger helped Lady Waynwood into her wagon. He closed the door for her and bid her farewell.

“How are you my lady?” She was greeted by Alys Karstark who held her newborn babe in her arms, wrapped in a bundle obscuring the face.

“Very well. I wish I could have been there to see you give birth. Boy or girl?”

“Boy. I named him Sighorn Edwin Karstark.” She showed Sansa his face for the first time.

“He is beautiful.”

“The nursemaid says he will be a strong boy by the way he suckles on my breast.”

“I’m sure he will. I am happy for you Alys.” Lord Baelish made his way up the balustrade. When he reached the top he cleared his throat,

“Am I intruding?”

“No, my lord.” Alys said quickly, “good day to you both.” She curtsied.

He leaned on the balustrade. “You do not have to feign happiness. I know you do not love me enough to marry me or find me the handsomest.”

“I thought I loved Joffrey because he had beautiful, blonde hair. Of all the things a woman can ask for in a husband, vanity should be the least concern.” She paused briefly, “we cannot let Cersei get her hands on the Eyrie so we must…marry.

Petyr Baelish inhaled the cold air, “Meet me in my quarters tonight. There is something I wish to discuss privately with you.”

 

A table was off to the far corner with parchment, quill and ink. To Sansa, it seemed as if Littlefinger had been writing dozens of letters by the look of it. The bed had not been laid on. She was beginning to wonder if the man slept at the table. He entered his quarters and shut the door,

“I would offer you a seat but there is nowhere to sit, unless you prefer to sit on the bed.”

“Thank you, but I am fine with standing.” Anxious feelings came over her again.

“Come now, no need to be shy. Let us speak freely Sansa if you are to be my wife.”

“About what?” She felt uneasy. The tone in his voice was slightly different as if he were angry, yet amused somehow.

“About what you have been up to these past few weeks.” He took her wrist in his hand. “Tell me Sansa. I caution you to think before you speak, for I will know if you lie.”

She inhaled sharply, a tear falling away from her cheek. “I wanted to know how Sweetrobin died.”

“I told you sweetling. He hung himself.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “Sweetrobin would not do that. He was sickly…but he would not take his own life.”

“Why would he not? He wept like a babe when his poor mother died. You know as well as I, that Sweetrobin was fragile and fragile things are not long for this world.”

“But someone broke his neck.”

“And who told you that may I ask?” Lord Baelish let go of her wrist, “Ah, Maester Coleman…”

The door opening and Maester Coleman stepped through the door as quiet as a mouse, escorted by Ser Lothor Brune. Only when he stopped to greet them did his chains rattle together.

“My lord,” he bowed to Petyr Baelish. “My lady,” he said to Sansa.

_Maester Coleman is a turncloak. I should have known he was not trustworthy._

“Like Lord Varys, I have little birds of my own too. They are my eyes and ears.” He pulled a blade from the inside of his sleeve. Sansa tried to back away slowly. Her muscles tensing as fear built up in her.

“Please…” she pleaded.

He gave the blade to Ser Lothor who took it by the hilt. Sansa closed her eyes before hearing the slice of flesh cut open. When she opened her eyes again, Maester Coleman lay on the stone floor bleeding out from his throat, choking on air and making unintelligible pleas that could not be met. His red blood pooled out, touching the hem of her dress. She stared in disbelief.

“Unfortunately this little bird let Blackfish get away so I could no longer rely on his eyes and ears.” Littlefinger stepped around the pool of blood so as not to ruin his robe.

“The bounty is still on his head. He will not make it very far,” Ser Lothor finally spoke, wiping the fresh blood from the blade on a rag and returning it to Littlefinger who hid it back under his sleeve.

“Let us hope that he doesn’t make it far. Blackfish is very resourceful. He is Hoster Tully’s brother and Hoster was no fool.” His eyes softened when he looked at Sansa, “Come now, sweetling. No need to be afraid, you know I shall never harm you.”

She feigned a smile. “I know.” Her voice was a whisper.

“Let one of the servant girls draw up a bath for you. We have to make sure you look the part on the morrow when we announce our engagement over a feast.”

 

***

Winterfell had come to life again with lively chatter and workers as busy as bees, carrying tables and chairs, benches and brooms to sweep the cobwebs from the corners. The windows were being polished and hearths cleaned out. Scullery maids had bread baking and pig roasting on a spittle. They churned butter and unseeded peas from the pods. It was such a vivid remembrance of old times for Sansa Stark when her family gathered to celebrate name days and entertained their many guests. A servant woman wrapped Sansa’s bosom to fit in the gown she picked out.

“Too tight”, she replied. “Loosen the top a bit.”

“Yes m’lady.”

She held her arms out so the servant woman could spray rose petals on her before finally stepping into her gown which was deep blue in color. The servant began to brush her auburn hair.

“I can do the rest. Thank you.” She did not mean to be brusque with the woman, but years of living in King’s Landing had soured her on servants and handmaidens. Suddenly she thought of Shae, the handmaiden that Tyrion had selected for her whom also turned out to be his lover. Last she heard Tyrion Lannister had killed his father and strangled Shae before leaving King’s Landing. Some called it ‘The imp’s revenge’, others called it Tywin’s misfortune for keeping a bastard dwarf child. Whatever the cruel reason Tyrion did what he did, Sansa always felt that he treated her kindly. However one fault that could not escape him was that he was a Lannister and she could not will herself to ever love another Lannister after Joffrey.

_Were it a choice between the two, I could not choose. Tyrion as a lord husband would have forever tormented me because of his noble house name. Lord Baelish will torment me because he wants me to keep his secrets._

She remembered the way Littlefinger bathed her last night, like she was a little girl in need of assistance. He washed her hair and she watched the water trickle down between her legs into the basin. She remembered the way he whispered in her ear about loyalty and a righteous victory in overthrowing Cersei once they have Myrcella. His words triggering a response from her even now as she recalled the conversation they had last night.

_“I know you did not send the letter to Cersei, but I forgive you for it. You are still at war with your conscious, but once we are married, we will be a force to be reckoned with.”_

_“But Jon will return…he told me he would.”_

_“Perhaps, but we shall already be married and there will be nothing Jon can do to part us once we have the Vale. If he tries, we will deal with him. The late Maester Coleman told me you have a talent for mixing poison. Nothing a swig of ale could not take care of._

_“I am scared.”_

_“My sweet Sansa. When we are married nothing can touch us. Only then will you know what power you have and what power I have over you.”_

Sansa Stark decided that she would drink wine tonight. She would need something to get her through this false sense of security in the presence of these Northern lords and ladies. She finished brushing her hair and pinned it half up with a comb studded with a pearl ornament. She thought of Brienne for a moment, whom had left four nights ago on the expedition. She thought of Jon possibly a prisoner at Dragonstone or worse.

_I must be strong tonight. My skin has turned to porcelain, to ivory, to steel._

A singer and some flute players came to the feast that was held in the Great Hall. They played several songs that Sansa had not heard before. None of them were particularly to her liking and while many a gentlemen had asked her for a dance, she always declined. She had never known Lord Glover to drink and eat so merrily but everytime she glanced toward his table, the man had a mouthful of food and a cup of wine to wash it down with. The rack of lamb that was on her table was very tender and the buttered potatoes very tasty, but after her fourth bite Sansa was already full. Talk of Jon Snow circled the room. She heard one woman referenced him as a sullen drab not fit to be King in the North and another gentlemen confuse him with Robb until someone corrected him that it was the eldest Stark son who lost his head.

“Do you see how fickle they are?” Littlefinger leaned in whispering in her ear, “they praise Jon Snow one minute and talk behind his back in the next. If he aligns himself with Daenerys Targaryen then he will be seen as a traitor to the North.” Laughter and chatter filled the air and Sansa turned to see Cley Cerwyn making his way toward their table.

“It appears you have an admirer, sweetling. You may want to put this one out of his misery if he asks for a dance, lest he falls on his sword because you refused him twice.” He said it in jest, but the thought of Cley Cerwyn meeting an untimely death like the singer Marillion dawned upon Sansa at that moment.

“You will not harm Lord Cerwyn, will you?”

He smiled, “I am not so jealous that I would mean to harm any man that dares ask for a dance with my future wife.”

When the man arrived at the table, he bowed.

“Lady Sansa.”

“Lord Cerwyn, what a lovely surprise. Are you enjoying the feast?”

“Yes, I am at my leisure. I have found myself amongst some fine company in Lord Glover, his sons and Lady Lyessa Flint, but I had to stretch my legs.” He paused for a moment, “may I be forthright and ask you for a dance my lady?”

“You may, although I must warn you, I am not a skilled dancer.”

“Neither am I.” He shyly retorted.

She stood, choosing not to glance backwards at Littlefinger guessing correctly. Sansa followed Cley Cerwyn to where all the men and ladies were dancing merrily. He took her hands and mimicked the way the men held the ladies close to them. The song sung was called _I’d Rather Be a Lady._

As the singer sang, Sansa allowed herself to feel happy for once in the arms of a gentleman. It had been a long time since she felt the rush of wind at her back from twirling, the room spinning at different angles.

_I’d rather be a lady, so pretty and fair_

_With dresses made o’ silk and roses in hair_

_For if a man could keep her, he would know_

_how to please her, so she won’t run off with some other lad._

After some time the singer ended his selection of song and cheers rang out. Sansa clapped her hands and Lord Cerwyn bowed to her. She curtsied before hearing the tap of a mug on a table and a voice that rose over the lively chatter. It was Lord Petyr Baelish. The lump in Sansa’s throat would not leave as he spoke.

“My fine lords and ladies. I take it you all are having a splendid time. Before the end of the night, I encourage you all to try the marmalade cake. It is far more decadent than the song _I’d Rather be a Lady_.” A few men and women laughed at the jape, although Sansa knew that Lord Baelish meant it as no jape. “You all must be wondering why we are gathered here. Lady Sansa and I will no longer keep you in suspense.”

“What suspense?” One of the lords shouted from across the room.

“Tell us my lady.” Robett Glover coaxed her.

The other dance partners cleared the floor, even her faithful Lord Cerwyn sat down to hear from her. She stood there, searching for the words to say,

“Lord Petyr Baelish and I…” The crowd of folk waited and waited.

“…intend to marry.” Lady Waynwood had stood from far in the back of the room.

“Lady Anya? What a pleasant surprise you grace us with your presence again. When did you arrive from White Harbor?” Lord Baelish asked.

“Not long ago,” she replied. “I came back just in time for the announcement of your engagement. I offer my congratulations to you and Lady Sansa.”

Lord Glover was direct, “Does your brother know of your engagement? Does he approve?”

“I am the Lady of Winterfell and I do not need my brother’s approval on whom I choose to marry.” Her eyes drifted toward Lord Cerwyn.

_Only two months ago, he asked for my hand but I refused him. Dancing in his arms was the only thing that brought me some happiness. Perhaps one of these fair ladies will catch his eye tonight and I will no longer torment him._

Sansa smoothed her gown,“Lord Baelish will be my lord husband and I, his wife.”

She heard a few gasps and some whispers. Surely some that criticized the match and thought it foolhardy.

“Well then, play some music.” Lord Glover commanded, “for the wife and husband to be.”

“Any request m’lady?” The singer asked, his slippers were made of silk and Sansa wondered how he made it to Winterfell in silk slippers.

 _As long as it is not Rains of Castamere._ Smiling she simply replied, “No.”

“Very well then, I will sing one of my favorite tunes.”

The singer bowed to Sansa whilst Lord Baelish came to join the celebration. He took her hand and kissed it gently. Pulling her close, he danced with her in a slow circle. Her steps mirroring his steps, she rested her head on his shoulder and he seized the chance to whisper in her ear.

“May I ask why Lady Anya is here? I was not aware that she would return to Winterfell.”

“Neither was I aware, my lord.” Sansa met his gaze and her heart began to race upon seeing Lord Baelish react to what she told him. He wore the look of a man who knew that something was amiss, his face grew pale and his eyes grew large when he saw Bronze Yohn Royce pushed open the doors to the Great Hall with a group of soldiers clad in armor following his lead. A rush of cold air came through the doors and blew some of the lit candlesticks out. Ladies with their lords were aghast, a few scattered the room through the doors which were wide open. Ser Lothor Brune drew his sword ready to retaliate.

“Stand aside Ser Lothor or I’ll cut you in two,” Bronze Yohn pointed at the man.

“What tis’ the meaning of this?” Sansa demanded.

“I am here to collect Lord Petyr Baelish for the murder of my cousin Nestor Royce.”

Gasps filled the room and mutterings that coincided with the shock of what Petyr Baelish was being accused of.

“It cannot be.” Sansa said disapproving. Ser Lothor now attempting to shield her too.

Lord Baelish finally spoke, a slight edge to his voice, “Stand aside Lothor. No need to shed blood over this slight misunderstanding.”

“Do you pretend to be ignorant of it?” Bronze Yohn barked. He held up a parchment that was pink in color. “This was found floating in the Trident.” He held up the stained paper, “Nestor’s wagon was overturned and made to look like he it was raided. We found blood inside, but no sight of Nestor. He must of scribbled this before he was murdered, the words are still legible. It names you as conspiring to kill him! It says he fled the Vale once he overheard you conspiring with the Kettleback that murdered his son.”

“These accusations have no foundation. I left the Vale before Nestor. Ser Lothor was there to see me off.”

“Lies! You will confess to it you sod.”

Lady Waynwood stepped in just before Bronze Yohn was about to draw his sword. “Enough! Ser Bronze, if you continue on behaving like a brute there will be no justice for Lord Nestor.” The woman seemed like a shrunken turnip between the two men. “Ser Lothor do you mind? Put away the steel before someone gets hurt.” The men obeyed but Bronze Yohn was easily provoked. Sansa noticed that the man wore chainmail underneath his armor so by all means he intended to duel. “We will get to the bottom of this swiftly. If Lord Baelish has anything to hide surely we will find it.”

Bronze Yohn’s temper boiled to the surface again, “Whichever room he is staying in, I want it turned inside and out. I will do it myself if I have to!”

“That will not be necessary.” Sansa remarked, “If there is anything Lord Baelish is hiding, I am sure I will find it.”

 

9

The soldiers’ armor clinked all over the room as one of them instructed Sansa Stark to take out all of Petyr Baelish’s belongings. He had numerous satchels, where he kept scrolls and writings, even his most intimate belongings like a necklace he once told her belonged to his mother. Another soldier dragged out his chests and opened them, throwing the contents out.

“Look through all of it. Be quick about it, Ser Bronze is not a patient man.”

“I will do it if you leave the room.”

“Do you think this is a game?” One of the soldiers shrewdly remarked.

“No, I do not. I understand that this is a serious matter, but I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell and you will not give me commands in my home. Wait outside the door and I will search through these things myself.” The soldier sneered at her, finally telling the others to leave. Once gone, Sansa breathed a heavy sigh of relief. She took a few moments to compose herself. Her hands shaking and her legs wanting to buckle underneath her. She inhaled and exhaled before searching the confines of Littlefinger’s wardrobe and chests.

 _It is here. It must be._ She rummaged through his robes and various cloaks, even his rings and coin purses to find the doublet. She picked it up and turned it over making sure she was not mistaken. The soldier entered the room again, suspiciously asking,

“What is this? What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” She hesitated in giving it. The soldier snatched it away.

“Clothing is useless.”

 _Not this piece of clothing you idiot._ “I sowed it for Lord Baelish. I found it odd that he would tell me to sow it for him.”

The soldier cut along the seam with a blade and the rolled up piece of parchment fell to the floor. He picked it up with the point of his blade.

 

***

Petyr Baelish manifested a calm resilience even as he was being insulted by Bronze Yohn Royce. His grey green eyes never left Sansa’s as the parchment was read aloud by Lady Anya Waynwood.

“This is the formal document naming Lord Nestor as Keeper of the Gates. It bares the Arryn seal, but is signed by you. Why was it hidden amongst your things?”

He stood unapologetic boring holes into Sansa. “You have been mislead Lady Anya. If I may call on Ser Lothor, he can clear my name and my whereabouts the day Lord Nestor fled. Bronze Yohn had his men guarding the doors.

“No one is allowed to leave until this matter is settled! Keep them still!” he ordered.

Lord Glover urged Sansa to dismiss the ladies so they would be able to go home to their children and babes. Him and Bronze Yohn almost coming to blows over it. Swords were drawn to keep the men apart. If things progressed further, Sansa feared something terrible would happen. Lady Anya pressed on,

“I traveled to White Harbor and saw nothing that led me to believe Lord Nestor was there. Wyman Manderly scoffed at the notion. He despises the Arryns and all their bannermen and would never harbor them. Answer the question Lord Baelish. Why was this hidden amongst your things? Did you intend to burn it? Where is Lord Nestor?”

Petyr Baelish glowered, “I have nothing to protest and I know I shall find no justice here at this inquisition.”

“Lady Anya, I have known Lord Baelish for some time now. He is a good man, kind and gentle. He always spoke highly of Lord Nestor and would never harm him.” Sansa pleaded, “please, if you mean to put him on on trial, do it the right way. Please…” tears fell from her eyes.

The old, but spritely woman composed her wits, “Ser Bronze let them go home. They are Lady Sansa’s guests, not her prisoners. They should be treated accordingly. As for Lord Baelish, put him in shackles. He will be brought before the Lords Declarant. One way or another I will learn the truth of this.”

Many of the guests began to leave and the night was cold. The wind entered through the twin doors of the Great Hall, caressing the room in a gust. As many of the lords, lordlings and their ladies of Houses great and small left, the place became much quieter. Whispering winds occupied the space and brought a haunting sense of dread. Footsteps resounded on the stone floor. It grew louder until a woman bloodied, crying and afraid begged for assistance. Sansa heard a clash of swords and what sounded like... S _creams?_

She ran through the doors out into the cold, distant sound of women screaming and death awaiting.

 

***

Sleep did not come to Sansa. She feared she would have nightmares of blue-eyed dead men come to reek havoc. Everytime she drifted off, her eyes would flutter open. It was not long before she refused to lay down in a bed or sit in a chair. She aimlessly roamed Winterfell by herself the last three days. She went to the godswood and sat before the weirwood tree. Before long, she was muttering a prayer. She no longer felt compelled to pray because the gods never answered her prayers and yet something stirred in her and she wanted someone to hear her. The ghosts of Winterfell could hear her no doubt. It gave her an odd sense of comfort.

_I am better off praying to the ghosts of father and mother, even Lady may hear my prayers. She always listened to my voice and was a dutiful companion._

On the fourth day, she went to see him, held up in his quarters guarded heavily by three of Bronze Yohn’s soldiers. They stood aside and let Sansa enter. The room was sparse, the belongings gone and the only solitary thing that remained was a table where Petyr Baelish sat. He wore the same clothes and had a quill in his hand dipping it in ink and writing briskly. He stopped writing when he saw her walk into the room and close the door. The makings of a full beard were starting to grow on his face and he was losing weight, although Sansa knew there were more reasons at work for his unfortunate appearance rather than a lack of sustenance.

“You came to see me one last time. I am flattered.” He twirled the quill between his fingers, “Do tell me, were you harmed the other night? A good many ladies were killed. All the blood was a dreadful sight.”

Memories flooded over her of that night. Sansa remembered the way Maester Coleman chewed on the severed leg of a woman, except that it was not really Maester Coleman instead it was a blue-eyed demon that could only be killed by fire. Jon had told Sansa about men, women and children, _wights_ he called them that came back from the dead at Hardhome. It was hard to fathom something like that could exist, but the onslaught and terror of that night would not leave her and she finally understood why Jon committed himself to stopping such a threat. If one wight could cause that amount of destruction, she reckoned that hordes of them were unstoppable.

_Jon was right all along._

“I was not harmed but many lost their lives and Winterfell is in a state of unrest.”

“Did your Lord Cerwyn survive?” When she gave no answer, he continued, “Pity…he would have made a fine husband for you.”

Sansa held in her tears for her faithful Lord Cerwyn, she did not want Littlefinger to use it against her, “Do you take pleasure in causing pain? It must be a sport for you.”

“Quite the contrary sweetling. This is not a sport. This is a game we play, and everyone is playing whether they agree to it or not. Pleasure is temporary, pain however, is permanent. There is a discord between the two, but once in a while inflicting both is a feeling like no other.”

“Well then, how does it feel to be in pain?”

Littlefinger gave a small chuckle, “When did you steal it from Lord Nestor? And when did you come up with the idea to sew it into my clothes? Did it move you to know that I never discovered it? Mayhaps I knew you put it there and left it. You are quite the actress Sansa with all the concern you showed for me. I thought you were even more convincing than when you told the tale of how Marillion pushed poor Lysa through the Moon door.”

 _He is plotting. Sooner than later, he will tell lies and come up with a story that lets him walk free._ The thought came and went. Sansa stood firmly and asked.

“Where is Lord Nestor?”

“Bronze Yohn and Lady Anya still haven’t found the poor lord? I fear he will end up in the wrong hands or fallen over a cliff. Nestor is a clumsy one and he had many enemies. Much more than I. He was of a lesser branch of House Royce so in truth…he was expendable.”

“Alive or dead, I will find him.”

“Better hurry. Time is not kind to you Starks. You all drop like flies one after the other.” He dipped his quill in ink again, signing his signature.

Sansa bit her lip in anger. She wanted to lash out at him, scratch his eyes out and squeeze them in her fists. It took all her restraint to hold back.

“From this day forth, you are not to mention any of my family. You are not to speak on any matters concerning House Stark or House Tully. The love you bore for my mother is the only reason why I once believed you truly cared for me, but I know now that I was wrong. You have dishonored and betrayed her in death just as you did in life, starting with the day you plotted with Cersei to have my father imprisoned. You murdered her sister Lysa and Jon Arryn’s death was your doing. You murdered Sweetrobin and sought to dishonor his memory by declaring him mad and taking all that was bequeathed to him.” Sansa took a breath, “You once told me that there is no justice in this world unless we make it. Well, this is justice for my family. I curse you Petyr Baelish… and by the gods you will die for all you have done.”

A knock came on the door and a voice afterwards, “We are to move the prisoner. Lady Anya wishes to depart for the Vale.” She opened the door, soldiers came through and Bronze Yohn Royce on the heels of them. He insisted on putting the manacles on Lord Baelish.

“The Lords Declarant will see fit that you confess to the murder of my cousin. You will be stripped of all your titles and thrown into a dungeon to rot or you can take the Black. I am sure you will fit in nicely there too.”

Petyr Baelish did not resist. He composed himself as the manacles were applied, “You know that I have many allies in the Vale and beyond that will vouch for my innocence. Ser Lothor has rode to Oldtown to speak to an old friend who has a powerful name.”

“We shall see about that. You can write to as many friends as you like, but you will not be able to talk your way out of this one Baelish.”

Before being escorted out of the room, Littlefinger stopped to acknowledge Sansa, “Farewell sweetling, I do not regret any of the time we have spent together. You and Lady Anya were clever in orchestrating this. I admit it did wound my pride at first, but you will not win…you will not win.”

Sansa walked forward and kissed both of his cheeks.

“Goodbye Petyr,” she said.

 

***

Two wagons near the entrance of Winterfell were left open for the shackled Petyr Baelish. A horseman from the Vale sat atop waiting to escort the wagons safely. Snow had already begun to fall and the heavens were white. Not a single blue sky could be seen from a distance. The residents of Winterfell were hiding inside, but the smokestack billowed with black smoke signaling that the daily routines still went on. Bronze Yohn shoved the prisoner as they approached the wagons. When they came closer and closer, Lord Baelish pitched forward struggling to stand to his feet.

“My legs…” he complained. “I cannot feel them,” he tried to stand again but his legs buckled. “I need assistance. Please!” His eyes met Sansa’s and the realization struck him. “I need assistance! Can someone assist me? What did you do to me Sansa?” He crawled toward her in distress, constantly being prodded by Bronze Yohn. A spittled of blood came from his mouth staining the white snow. “What did you do? Why?” He strained to breath. “Why?" His eyes pleading, "I loved…llloved you.”

Sansa gazed at the eyes of a frightened man aware that his life was coming to a swift end,

“In the game of thrones, even the humblest pieces can have wills of their own. Mark that well, Petyr. It tis’ true, I am a slow learner…but I do learn. ” she stepped aside to let Ser Bronze handle the dying man who struggled to breath, whilst his eyes began to leak blood. Bronze Yohn placed him into the wagon and shut the door, Petyr Baelish scratched at the door and choked on his own screams.

“Is that all my lady?” Bronze Yohn inquired. Sansa reached up into her hair and stuck her sewing needle back into her comb studded with the pearl.

“No one is to ride with him, nor touch him. When you reach the Vale dispose of the body, but…send the head to Queen Cersei as a gift. Tell her that Sansa Stark killed the most dangerous man in Westeros and tell her that Winter is Coming…” She paused, “one more thing. There is a bounty out on Blackfish. I want you to call it off.”

He bowed and walked over to the second wagon. Lady Anya stood before Sansa Stark and curtsied,

“I wish you and your family well my lady. I would have never imagined that Lord Baelish could do the things he has done. When you told me…” she took a deep breath, “thank you for confiding in me. You played your part well.”

“As did you my lady.” She curtsied.

Droplets of snow fell on Sansa's nose, she swore she could hear her mother calling her, followed by Arya's laughter. _Ghosts come to life at Winterfell._ When the wagons left through the entrance, a raven arrived shortly with a message. Sansa went up to the balustrade to read it.

_Thank the gods. Jon is returning to Winterfell….with Daenerys Targaryen. He has allied with her and is now Warden of North. How did he win her trust?_

Sansa did not know whether to rejoice or to be sad. Her thoughts suddenly turned to Brienne whom she had really sent to Dragonstone to seek out Jon. She had not heard from her. She suspected that Brienne revealed the true plans to the Vale Knights and they either listened to her or refused her and went separate ways. Only time would tell and time was something that she did not want to wait for.

“My lady!” the gatekeeper called to her, “Two visitors have arrived. One has introduced herself as Meera Reed, the other is…Brandon Stark.” he said alarmingly.

“Open the doors at once!” She ran down the stairwell trying not to fall. Her breathing labored and her heart beating through her chest, Sansa watched as the heavy doors opened at the entrance of Winterfell. She could not hold her emotions in. At the sight of Bran, tears spilled from her eyes overwhelming her. Her long, lost crippled brother was indeed alive and no longer a boy.


End file.
